But it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. Not if Hank could help it. ‘I want you to listen to me carefully, ’ he said to Gann. ‘Nothing else happens to anyone in this prison unless I say so. Is that clear?’
‘What about Charon?’ Gann asked.
‘If he dies after surviving one dubious disaster already it’ll only bring a hundred of his buddies crawling all over this place. He isn’t going anywhere and he has no one to talk to but us - so relax.’
Mandrick thought about mentioning that Christine had met with Charon when he first became conscious. But that might upset more than one apple-cart. If Gann knew as much he might just be stupid enough to try and kill her too. Hank would be none too pleased either, especially with this new implication. Mandrick had a lot of plans in various stages of development, all of them based around his own interests. One of them was Christine and if he smeared her with more suspicion than she had already attracted he might as well forget about her. But he didn’t want to, not just yet. He would hold on to his information for the time being.
‘I want you to hoist in one last thing,’ Hank said to Gann. ‘One important piece of information that you should never forget . . . You listening?’
Gann nodded, a feeling of superiority stealing over him. He felt he was a little more equal to the agent than when he’d walked into the room minutes earlier.
‘You’re a moron,’ Hank said with utter conviction. ‘You’ve always been a moron and nothing will change that.’
Gann felt his temples throb as he stared into the eyes of the chubby man within a haymaker’s reach of him.
‘Morons don’t think for themselves,’ Hank went on. ‘You got that?’
Mandrick knew Gann a lot better than Hank did but it would appear that the CIA agent was a far better judge of character. Mandrick was waiting for Gann to slap Hank in the chops, almost tensing in expectation of the blow, and wondering what his reaction should be. He was impressed with both men, and somewhat relieved, when the punch did not come.
Mandrick had to agree with Hank’s basic sentiments, though. Gann was not the brightest lamp in the street. But then, neither was he a complete idiot. He had managed to carry out what had to be acknowledged as a complicated sabotage of a Styx ferry that, with a little help from Mandrick, would be difficult to prove had been foul play. Admittedly, there was the Charon factor, of course, but that aside it had been a good effort. And the fact that he had refrained from dropping Hank was a further indication of Gann’s basic good sense. However, he doubted that Gann would forget the insult soon - or ever, for that matter. Mandrick might have misjudged Gann’s ability to hold back his violent impulses in the short term but he was confident that at that very moment the man was plotting Hank’s demise for some day in the future.
‘You people are falling apart,’ Hank said, redirecting his ire at Mandrick. ‘You don’t have the balls to hold this place together.’
Mandrick sighed. ‘We’re tougher than you think. A lot’s happened but we can get away with a lot more.’
‘You always tell people what they want to hear, don’t you, Mandrick? You want me to think you believe we’ll come after you when you jump. But the truth is, guys like you never really do believe it until it’s too late.’ Hank stared into Mandrick’s eyes.‘I’ve been buying and selling truth and lies for a long time and from people far better equipped to play the game than you. You’re lying to me, Mandrick. It’s clear as a mountain stream to these old eyes.You know what’s better than getting even with someone who screws with you?’
Mandrick didn’t bother to try and guess. He was busy assessing Hank’s sincerity and to his alarm he found him convincing.
‘Getting even with him before he screws you,’ Hank said. ‘That’s the smart play. Open the door.’
Mandrick did not react to the threat although more than a tingle of discomfort rippled through him. He opened the door and watched Hank walk out of the room.
There was always going to be an endgame to this whole scenario and Mandrick often felt concern at his apparent powerlessness to influence it one way or another. But perhaps that was not the case any more. It would appear that the ticking clock was going faster than he’d thought a few hours earlier. Hank had shone a narrow beam of light onto the pitfalls that faced all the players in this complicated game. The Agency controlled almost everything, but not quite. Every player had a destructive force that they could unleash and in such a game the advantage went to him who struck first. Mandrick and the Felix Corp were in it for the money but receiving it wasn’t enough. The real issue was holding on to the freedom to spend it when the top eventually did blow off.
‘He thinks he’s in charge around here but he ain’t,’ chirped Gann.
Mandrick glanced at Gann, wondering why Forbes had inflicted such an uncontrollable beast on him.
‘Mr Forbes is in charge of this place. And until he tells me to lay off Charon I’ll do what I think is best for this place.The CI friggin’A can go screw themselves.’
Gann headed for the door. Mandrick considered trying to convince him not to go against Hank but decided not to bother.The seams were cracking all over the place and Mandrick felt it was now beyond his ability to hold them together. Gann was, understandably, concerned about being accused of sabotaging the ferry and therefore had every right to protect himself. There was no way that Gann was going to let Charon get out of the prison alive and so he might as well get on with it.
Gann left the room and Mandrick went back to his desk and slumped into his chair. He suddenly felt more vulnerable than he had ever been and there was only one solution. He needed more control of his destiny. To get that he needed to act first. In short, he needed to escape. But it wasn’t getting free of Styx that was a problem. He could leave that afternoon. He was the warden. The problem was staying free. Hank had underlined that fact most clearly. The only way Mandrick could keep the CIA off his back was to have a value to them. It was that lack of value that was frustrating him.
The phone on his desk chirped, taking him out of the depths of his thoughts, and he plucked the receiver out of its cradle. ‘Mandrick.’
‘Hi,’ a woman’s voice said.
It was Christine and the image of her body immediately acted like a tonic. ‘Hi yourself.’
‘I’d like to see you.’
He never believed her when she was so forward. If she wanted to see him it was nothing to do with romance. ‘See me or interrogate me about the mess hall incident?’
‘What mess hall incident?’
‘That’s very good, Christine. You’ll become more memorable with comments like that.’
She laughed. ‘I was told one of the guards got his timings mixed up.’
‘It’s inexcusable. We’re taking it very seriously, of course.’
‘I wanted to tell you I’m pretty much finished.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. You’re the only breath of fresh air in this place. You’ll be at dinner tonight?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll see you then . . . Perhaps we can talk afterwards.’
‘That would be nice . . . Can I book a ferry for later this evening?’
‘You want to leave straight after dinner?’
‘After our little talk,’ she said coquettishly.
‘I see,’ Mandrick said, the excitement rising in him despite his better judgement. The thought then struck him that he might leave with her. Perhaps they could both depart after dinner and enjoy the following day together in Houston, relaxing at his apartment after the decompression. It was worth considering. ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’