Gundown (27 page)

Hank did as told, and Dalrymple followed suit. A guard slipped a cold band of dull gray metal around his wrist and clicked it shut. It was a tight fit, and where the ends met there was only a hairline crack; no way he’d be prying it apart. There’d be no sliding it over his hand, either, unless every bone was pulverized.

Arnie said, “Your wristband carries a transmitter that sends a signal unique to you. We have receivers located over a two-hundred-mile radius.

“The band is titanium alloy, and nothing in the Keep can cut it—the hardest metal inside is the aluminum trays in mess kits. The bracelet also monitors your body temperature. If it falls low enough for long enough, we’ll know that you’re either dead or the band is no longer on you, which would mean that your hand has been cut off or crushed to a pulp. With no medical care in the Keep, that probably means you’re dead. It has happened.”

Hank started to hate the band.

“If you get past the fence and survive the climb to the desert floor, there are no public roads or other human habitations for a hundred miles in any direction. Or water, or shelter. There is, however, a population of rattlesnakes and scorpions. Even if you make it that far, helicopters will still track you down through the wristband.”

Damn.

The other guard put two neat stacks of supplies on a table outside the barred elevator area. Arnie pointed. “Blankets, another coverall, underwear, socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, needle and thread, soap and towel. You have the pamphlet and the video.

“The elevator takes you to the release room on the top of the butte, which looks like this . . .” He swiveled a monitor on his desk so they could see the picture. Hank made out a bare room with a metal door in the far wall. Arnie tapped the screen and said, “This door takes you into the exit chamber. Because of the air pressure needed to hold up the prisoner buildings, the chamber is an airlock with two doors.”

The view cut to a smaller room with another door. Arnie tapped the screen and indicated a panel beside the door. “You push this button. Be sure you’re clear when the doors close—they’re powered by hydraulics at ten tons of pressure per square inch. When the first door is closed behind you, and only then, you can open the outer door into the Keep. If you’re lucky, nobody will be waiting.”

Hank asked, “What if we don’t want to go out?”

“I guess you won’t be eating. You’ll get pretty thirsty, too.”

“What if somebody stays in the elevator?”

Arnie shrugged. “It sits there until it’s empty; we’ve got the time.”

“Outside the exit chamber?”

“You’re on your own. You find a bed for yourself, get your own food, force somebody to get it for you, whatever—there’s plenty, all ready-to-eat. There are more clothing and sundries, tables, beds, and chairs.” He grinned. “All the necessities are provided to everyone, equally. Each building has toilet facilities and showers. You can stay in the building attached to the exit room or go to another. A conveyor delivers food to the supply area in the first building.”

He tossed a set of keys to the short, wide guard. “All right, Mannie, let’s start with Mr. Dalrymple.”

The guard opened Dalrymple’s cell door. Dalrymple didn’t move. The guard reached in and hauled him out by an arm.

Looking for any angle that could be turned into an escape, Hank said, “Let’s say I decide to do the therapy after I’m up there. How do I get back out?”

Arnie grimaced. “Shit, I’m sorry, I left out the most important part.”

Mannie and Dalrymple paused. Arnie walked to a Plexiglas plate in a metal frame affixed to the bars outside the elevator. “By the exit chamber door inside the Keep there’s a panel like this. Hold your wristband up to it; a detector reads your code and the door opens for fifteen seconds. Once you’re inside the room, we’ll talk. The door won’t open again for twenty-four hours unless I trigger it to let you back out.”

The guard escorted Dalrymple to his supplies. Arnie pushed a button on his desk, the double-barred door opened, and Mannie guided Dalrymple into the elevator and then returned for Hank.

The second guard stood with his stopper ready.

Now was the time. Up in the Keep, there wouldn’t be a key to take the wristband off, and there was that fence and a hundred miles of nowhere. Down here, there was a nice helicopter that Hank knew how to fly.

When Mannie reached for him, Hank grabbed his wrist and yanked. When the guard stumbled forward, Hank clubbed him on the side of the head with a fist. Mannie dropped, and Hank wrenched the stopper from his holster. He turned it on the other guard.

Hank didn’t know which button did what, so he pressed the first and second. Nap beads shot out, followed by a liquid stream that hit the guard’s face. The guard twitched and staggered, his eyes clamped shut.

As Hank swung his weapon toward Arnie, tangle from Arnie’s stopper pinned his gun hand to his side.

Arnie smiled. “Drop it. Unless you’d like to go into the Keep napped.”

Hank opened his hand as best he could. The stopper fell through a gap in the tangle web.

Pressing a button on his desk, Arnie said, “I need help in here.”

Two guards entered, stoppers drawn. Arnie pointed. “Jimmy, cover these guys, especially the troublemaker.”

Arnie checked Mannie’s pulse. He sighed and said to one of the new guards, “Better get a gurney over here from the Repair Shop. He’s going to need a little treatment.” He opened the barred door to the elevator area and signaled Hank to enter. “In.”

Hank applied all his strength to break the bonds of the tangle. It gave slightly, then no more. “Like this?”

“You’re a lot less trouble that way.”

“Up there, I’m in trouble this way.”

At Hank’s feet, Mannie stirred and moaned. Arnie knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. Mannie’s eyes cracked open. Arnie said, “You okay?” Mannie nodded, then winced.

Arnie stood and considered Hank. “You’re the guy who saved Noah Stone’s life?”

“That’s what I’m in here for.”

Arnie gazed at Hank, then took an aerosol can from a drawer. “Don’t use this much—hope it’s still good.”

He sprayed the tangle; it sagged and fell away.

“Thanks.” Hank fetched his supplies, went to the elevator, and joined Dalrymple. Arnie pushed a button, the doors closed, motors whined, and the elevator rose.

When it stopped and opened, they edged into the room, spreading to create space between them. The elevator shut behind them.

The steel door into the exit chamber was set in a steel frame cemented into concrete block walls. Hank tapped the button on the panel and the door rumbled open. It revealed a bare room four feet square, with a steel door and control panel on the opposite wall. Hank led the way into the room. Behind them, the door closed.

In grisly testimony to the force behind the doors, just inside the outer door lay a mummified hand, the rusty brown of dried blood staining the floor under it. A spider skittered away from the bones. Hank tsked; apparently there was no maid service up here.

Dalrymple said, “You gonna open the door?”

Hank didn’t want to be first out in a prison filled with thousands of the state’s most violent men. He said, “Help yourself.”

Dalrymple snorted and swaggered forward to stab the button. This door lifted straight up. Instead of being squared off, the bottom edge was wedge-shaped, and the doorjamb in the floor was shaped to receive it. With ten tons of pressure behind it, the door would cut through anything in its way. Nasty.

Hank’s ears and skin sensed the increased air pressure that supported the huge fabric roof. Foul air flowed in, carrying an eye-watering stench of unwashed men and God knew what else. Men waited outside the door.

One of them coughed. Dalrymple retreated a step.

Arnie’s voice said, “I need to shut that door. Please step out.” Hank spotted a tiny camera in a corner of the ceiling.

Hank stepped to the doorway. A semicircle of beefy, unkempt men waited for them. Sure they did; they’d seen the helicopter arrive and had expected new fish to be delivered. Seeing nothing to gain by waiting, Hank moved out. Dalrymple came after. The second he cleared the door, it slammed home like a giant guillotine blade. Very nasty.

There were five in the reception committee, all bearded and, judging by the odor that drifted to Hank, unwashed for entirely too long. Two wore their hair pulled back in ponytails, three let it bush out. Of course, there were no scissors or razors in the Keep. A crude tattoo of a skull and crossbones decorated each man’s forehead.

The air structure stretched before them; it still reminded Hank of a giant pill, long and rounded. The ceiling arched eighty feet over a half acre of concrete. King-size lighting fixtures hung from the roof. Scattered through the space were chairs, tables, and beds, some clustered together, others isolated. Pieces of clothing littered the floor, and occasional piles of what looked like trash rose a few feet from the pavement. It was a gray scene, the only color hundreds of orange jumpsuits. Men lounged on beds and chairs. A couple of card games were in progress. On the far side two men fought inside a circle of cheering prisoners.

Twenty yards from the door, a row of metal pipes ending in showerheads stuck up through the floor. Nearby, a couple dozen urinals decorated a low concrete wall, and toilets occupied a row of half-wall stalls. Fifty feet past the “bathroom” stood a thirty-foot square formed by what looked like walls of fabric. It looked like a tent without a roof, and was flanked by a smaller square, maybe ten feet to a side. Hefty men stood guard at the big square’s entrance.

Hank noted that none of the five waiting men had made a move to get inside the exit chamber. He figured that was a sure sign he could rule it out as an escape route.

Each man carried a stout club about two feet long, one end tapered to a point sharp enough to put a serious hole in someone’s belly; a fist-sized rock tied to the other end looked good for bashing.

The biggest man said, “Take it.”

The other four stepped forward and grabbed the supplies the new arrivals carried. Hank let his stuff go without protest, but Dalrymple hung on, saying “Hey, that’s mine!”

One thug stepped behind Dalrymple and smashed his fist into a kidney. The rapist dropped his bundle, and his assailants grabbed their loot and rejoined the semicircle. The leader aimed his club at the topless tent. “We’re going there. You give us a problem, well . . .” He slapped his club head into a palm. “Did they show you Bone Hill on the way in?”

Hank nodded.

The leader said, “Let’s go.”

Fundamentally Rational and Fair

Jewel closed the folder on the Armstrong file, done at last, and sooner than she’d thought. She was getting the hang of the Alliance system. She leaned back and sipped her coffee—bleh, it was cold. Can’t have that. Just as she stood to go for a fresh cup, her cell phone dinged. A text message. She checked the screen.

It was from Murphy’s number. It said, “Gotcha.”

Fear clenched her. No . . . She didn’t know what to do, where to turn.

Benson appeared in her doorway, papers in his hand. Good, he’d know what . . . Why was his always cheerful face so down? A uniformed police officer appeared behind him. It was Tom, the nice cop she’d seen around town.

Tom said, “Ms. Washington, I—”

Benson said, “Let me, Tom.” He held up the papers. “Jewel, Tom is here to take you into custody. The State of Illinois has a warrant for your arrest.” He squared his shoulders and took a breath. “The charge is murder. And there’s an officer here to extradite you.”

This was crazy. “Who did I murder?”

Benson read from a sheet of paper. “Timothy Washington.”

She dropped into her chair, sucker-punched by his words. “My brother? I didn’t— Who said—”

Benson said, “The charging officer is John Murphy.”

“That lying bastard!”

Tom stepped into the office and took a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Sorry, ma’am. I gotta do this.”

She stood and backed away, hands out in protest. “This is all wrong.”

“Please don’t make this any tougher.”

Benson said, “I’m on this, Jewel. Just stay calm.”

The cop clicked the cuffs on her—cold, heavy, scary—and he said, “You have the right to . . .”

Four hours later, Jewel sat in a jail cell, still wracking her brains to figure out what to do. She thought about Hank Soldado sitting there and understood why he had tried so hard to escape. She felt so—
trapped
, as helpless as a newborn.

The cellblock door opened and Benson hustled in, a file folder in his hands. The jailer followed, keys in hand. Benson said, “Hi, Jewel. You okay?”

“Yes. No. I’m so damn scared for Chloe.”

“I checked. Franklin’s taking care of her. Ah, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to act as your advocate.”

“Oh, yes, but I don’t get why I need one. I didn’t do what they said.” It struck her that Hank hadn’t thought he’d done anything wrong, either.

The jailer opened the cell door and swung it back. Benson said, “Come on. We’ve got an inquiry to go to.”