The sun spilled in through the windows as the boat moved out of the hangar and the grey ocean took up the forward panorama. A prisoner said something to the one beside him and Gann walked down the narrow aisle and stopped in front of the offending talker. ‘I’m gonna say this just once, fuckwit. No one talks on this boat except me . . . and Mr Palanski.You belong to me now. This ain’t like the cushy little numbers you just left,’ he said, addressing all of them. ‘You have any complaints, you talk to me. Any problems, you talk to me. Just one word of advice, though. I don’t like people talking to me. Got that?’
‘Whatever you say, boss man,’ the prisoner replied, sarcasm clear in his tone.
Gann slammed him brutally across the face with the back of his hand and leaned in even closer as if he wanted to bite the prisoner’s face off. ‘I said no talking - and no fucking attitude, neither. Now. You got any complaints?’
The man licked his split lip, tasting the blood as he looked at Gann with death in his eyes. But, wisely, he choked back his response.
‘Learn fast. It’ll keep you healthy in Styx. It’s unhealthy enough down there as it is.’
The boat rocked in the swell but Gann did not grab hold of anything to steady himself, spreading his large powerful legs to maintain his balance.
Stratton could not see very much of the ocean outside from where he was sitting but he knew the ferry platform was only a couple of miles away. Gann brushed past him to take up his position by the rear door, his hand on his utility belt beside his baton and zapper, his other hand on his Mace dispenser, his stare fixed on the prisoners as if hoping one of them might give him an excuse to launch himself at them.
The ferry platform eventually loomed into sight as the vessel manoeuvred to enter a docking bay. It was an impressive construction, like the top section of an oil platform.The most prominent feature was a towering derrick with a dozen heavy cables passing over large wheels at the top before they stretched down at an angle into the roof of a building on the edge of the platform.
The cabin cruiser slipped snugly into its tailored dock and gently hit the bumpers at the end. Several platform guards, all wearing life vests over brilliant yellow jackets, secured the vessel into place, its gunwales level with the landing deck.
Gann opened the rear door and faced his passengers. ‘I’m gonna unlock your chains and we’re all gonna walk together in a line across the platform to the ferry housing. For those of you who think it might be risky on our part to have all prisoners walkin’ at once even though you still got your hand chains, that’s because there’s nowhere to go from this platform - nowhere but down, that is. And you can either do that in the comfort of the ferry where you can breathe, or you can jump or get shoved off the side. Either way you’re going to the bottom . . . I know you’ll be surprised to hear I don’t give a rat’s ass which you choose. Anyone screws around I’ll personally toss ’em over the side.’
Gann undid a latch at the end of the bench, took hold of a lever and pulled it up with some effort. Every prisoner’s hand shackles were released from the bench between their legs although their hands remained chained together at the wrists. ‘Stand up,’ he called out and the prisoners got to their feet with a clatter of metal. ‘Turn towards me.’
Stratton faced Gann’s broad chest an arm’s length away.
‘Forward march,’ Gann said as he stepped back through the door. ‘Move it.’
Stratton walked outside and onto the short gangway.
‘Keep going,’ Gann said. ‘Follow the guard.’
Stratton stepped off the gangway onto the wooden deck of the jetty, walked across it and up another steep gangway with a hinge at the top that allowed it to rise and fall with the ocean swell. He stepped onto the main platform, the sea visible through a steel-mesh floor, and followed the guard at an easy pace that allowed the others to catch up.The prisoners’ ankle and wrist chains clinked behind him as they walked along a covered ramp that led to another platform connected by massive chains that allowed it to move independently of the docking section.
They approached the entrances to two hangars joined together, each with several thick wire cables coming down at steep angles from the derrick wheels and passing through openings in the roofs.A sign above the entrance to the left-hand hangar read FERRY 1 & 2, and above the right hangar FERRY 3 & 4. Stratton was directed towards an archway into the right-hand hangar.
Inside, the hangar was fully enclosed, the mesh floor limited to a central pathway with open water either side. A squat craft that looked like some kind of submarine occupied the right bay, while the left bay was empty. Thick, greasy cables entered through the hangar roof, one set dropping into the left bay and disappearing beneath the water, the other set crossing over the top of the squat vessel and through a complex series of wheels on a heavy framework rather like that of a cable car. As Stratton looked at the steel vessel, which was painted white with the number four stencilled in black on the top and sides, the blueprints he had studied in detail came to life in his head. There were four ferries in total, the conveyance method much the same as a classic cable system with a car at either end, both moving at the same time to counterbalance the driving mechanism and passing each other at the halfway point.
The ferries were identical, each with a safe operating capacity of fourteen persons.They were divided into two compartments: a larger main passenger cabin and a smaller section designed for emergency escape. Both compartments had escape hatches but only the emergency compartment had an airlock-tube system that allowed one person at a time to escape without flooding the entire compartment. The escape hatch in the passenger cabin was a standard maritime docking system that a rescue submarine could attach itself to prior to opening.
Massive weights were fixed to the base of the ferry to keep it in the correct attitude as well as to provide negative buoyancy. Along its sides were neat rows of high-pressure gas bottles that provided fourteen passengers with breathable air for up to twenty-four hours at a hundred and fifty feet of pressure.
‘Stop there,’ a guard called out and Stratton came to a halt halfway along the length of the ferry. The other prisoners shuffled to a stop behind him.
‘Turn and face the ferry,’ Gann called out as he walked down the line, his voice echoing.
The men obeyed, all looking at the vessel, in particular at the single open door that led into the main passenger compartment.
‘You are about to take the last stage of your journey to Styx max-security pen,’ Gann said. ‘This may look like a submarine but it ain’t.There are no pilots or crew. It’s an underwater cable car controlled from the prison - unless somethin’ goes wrong, then it can be controlled from here. There’s a toilet on board but it ain’t workin’ at the moment so if you wanna go, say so now or do it in your pants ’cause once you’re in your seat you don’t get out of it until we reach the prison. We won’t be serving any snacks or drinks, either. The journey’ll take about twenty-five minutes. I ain’t gonna go into the technicalities but it’s as safe as takin’ a bus ride. There’s only gonna be me and Mr Palanski on board with you so behave yourselves. For safety reasons, if anyone should get outta line we have the legal right to use whatever we have at our disposal as a restraint to prevent putting other lives at risk. I love that legal right. I’ve got an iron bar inside and my idea of restraint is a crushed skull. So don’t piss me off.’