by E. R. Torre
“Is the code proper?”
“What? Oh, it’s fine. The code is right.”
More seconds passed. Warden Manning pulled his cell phone out. He looked at its screen. Despite having talked to his secretary only seconds before, he was hoping to find a message from her. There was none. Warden Manning considered giving her a call.
“Are you sure?”
Warden Manning looked up. Officer Gregory had a curious look on his face.
“Eh?”
“Are you sure everything is OK?”
“No. Yes! Everything is fine.”
“Really?”
“Why do you ask?”
Officer Gregory wiped sweat from his brow and pointed to his men. They were done with the transfer of their material from the truck and were impatiently waiting for the order to load up Segmore’s outgoing crates.
“No offense, sir, I’m asking because we’re roasting our asses off and wouldn’t mind getting back to the Big City. So could you please sign the transfer orders?”
Warden Manning felt a flash of anger. In Segmore, he was king. Outside its walls…
“Sorry,” the Warden said meekly. “Yes, your verification code is proper. All transfer orders are proper.” He took a deep, irritated breath. “Everything is proper.”
Another pause.
“Well?”
The Warden stared into the transport officer’s eyes. He was furious. He was defeated. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pen. He signed the transfer order and handed the paper to Officer Gregory.
“They're all yours.”
“Thank you sir,” Officer Gregory said.
The Chief Transport Officer returned to his men and motioned for the forklift operator to begin the transfer of the metal crates into the truck’s cargo bay.
Warden Manning walked to the last of them, the one containing Joshua Landon. He looked in on the prisoner and found he was doing squats. The man’s muscles were like steel and the effort he put into the exercise was arduous. He was sweating heavily, more so from the exercise than the desert heat. Warden Manning was familiar with this routine. Landon would continue like this for at least an hour and a half. When he was done, the prisoner would stare at his cell door while his body cooled off. Sometimes, he remained standing. Other times, he allowed himself to sit. Two hours later, he began the exercise once again, repeating this routine through the day and stopping only for sleep.
Despite the blazing desert heat, Warden Manning felt a chill pass through his body. Joshua Landon was locked up in solitary at Segmore for over twenty years. Despite that length of time, he was a youthful man of no more than thirty five years in age. The math was easy to figure out. Joshua Manning was first sent to Segmore when he was barely a teen, with orders to remain in this prison for life.
So why is he being transferred?
Warden Manning noted that most of the crates were now inside the transport truck. It wouldn’t be long before they reached Landon. Manning pulled out his cell phone and called his secretary.
“Elizabeth, they're almost done,” the Warden said. “Anything?”
He paused and listened. His jaw tightened.
“All right. Keep trying. If you do communicate with Rupert, please tell him—” Warden Manning noted someone approaching his side. “Have to go. Just making sure everything’s proper.”
The Warden clicked his phone off. Standing next to him was Chief Transport Officer Gregory.
“Do you make it a habit of listening in on private conversations?” Warden Manning asked.
“No sir.”
“What the hell do you want?”
As he blurted out the words, Warden Manning wished he could take them back. The young transport officer carried the final transfer documents. They were signed by him and awaited Warden Manning’s final counter signature.
“I'm sorry,” Warden Manning said. “I didn't mean to—”
“Forget it,” Officer Gregory said. “We’ve all had our rough days.”
The Warden grabbed the papers and signed under the appropriate lines. Officer Gregory’s attention drifted to Joshua Landon. He noted the man’s strenuous exercise and marveled at his ability to do so in such a confined space.
“Your man is working up quite a sweat.”
“That’s all he does.”
“Is he our bonus guest?”
“Yes.”
“I take it he’s the reason you’re acting like someone took a piss in your coffee?”
The Warden said nothing.
“All right Warden, is there something I should know about him?” the young officer asked. “I mean, should my men take special precautions?”
Warden Manning sighed and shook his head.
“There’s little I can say. The prisoner’s name is Joshua Landon and the exercise…as I said, that’s all he does. That’s all he’s ever done, as far as I know. He doesn’t say anything and I’m not even sure he knows where he is. He just exercises…over and over and over again.”
“Sounds inoffensive enough. What’s got you so worried about letting him go?”
“The others you’re transporting…they’re mostly small time crooks,” Manning said. “Shoplifters, tax cheats. One of them is a murderer, but he committed that particular crime fifty years ago. The man’s pushing eighty and can’t walk or see and his body is riddled with cancer. Doctors tell me he has a month to live. You’ve got one that’s a small time crook, guilty of breaking and entering into a closed convenience store. He’s destitute and was trying to get food for his starving family. A real sob story. Yet another is a fucking peeping tom. The point is none of them are dangerous. I figure at least two or three of them will be back on the streets as early as tomorrow morning.” Warden Manning paused and point to Joshua Landon. “This guy is the exception.”
“What’s he in for?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?”
“How’s that possible?”
“The charges against him are sealed. Military discretion.”
“Is that legal? I thought everyone has the right to know—”
“You thought wrong,” the Warden said. “In theory, everyone follows the law and those that don’t wind up in places like ours. Thing is, everyone has a habit of pushing the limits of the law whenever they can…especially when there’s good odds they can get away with it. It’s been my experience that those in power tend to push those limits more than most. They enforce the law, after all, which makes it all the more easy for them to ignore the laws they choose to. Joshua Landon was brought to Segmore nearly a decade before I took over. When I became warden, I made a thorough revision of every prisoner’s file to make sure all documents were up to date and there were no errors. Eventually, I got to Joshua Landon’s file. It was exactly one page long. On it was his date of birth, the date he was sent to prison, and the military’s orders on how he was to be kept and nothing more. The military wanted him in solitary during his stay. He was to have no visitors. He was to be considered an extreme threat and kept shackled at all times, even while in his cell.”
Officer Gregory noted the shock collar.
“And the collar?”
“That was one of my decisions,” Warden Manning said. “I figured if the military thought he was that dangerous, shackles might not be enough. So I had them keep the collar on him at all times. The military told us to treat him like a big threat, so we did. But they never told us why he was here in the first place.”
Officer Gregory eyed the prisoner’s shackles and shock collar. Both were brown with age.
“How long has he been here?”
“Twenty years.”
“Twenty years?” the transport officer repeated. “If he’s under military discretion and been here for twenty years, that means he was in the Arabian War.”
“How old does he look to you?” Warden Manning asked.
“He looks…” the transport officer bit his lip. “Maybe thirty four or five?”
/>
“He’ll turn thirty six in two months.”
“You mean he was brought in here when he was, like, fifteen?”
“Yes.”
The transport officer shook his head.
“What the fuck,” he muttered. “We had children fighting in the war?”
“I heard rumors, never thought much of them,” Warden Manning said. “Maybe the war fried his mind, made him dangerous. If he is, I haven’t seen it. But still…I’d be careful. Just in case.”
Warden Manning handed the papers back to Chief Transport Officer Gregory. “Your documents are in order, Officer Gregory. The prisoners are yours. Please, watch yourself, Ok?”
Gregory took the papers and nodded.
“Yes sir.”
The sun was nearly gone when the crate carrying Joshua Landon was locked into place. He was the last of the transfers to be deposited into the prison’s parking lot and the last of the transfers to be placed into the transport truck.
Warden Manning silently watched as the transport truck’s engine roared to life. Officer Gregory was at the wheel of the vehicle and waved to him as he drove off. Warden Manning reached for his cell phone and gave it a look as the truck passed the prison’s outer perimeter wall.
Still no communication with the Chief Supervisor.
Warden Manning pocketed the phone.
It was too late, anyway.
8
The way back to the Big City involved a long, hot drive punctuated with bumpy roads, howling winds, and sandy blasts.
Despite a reasonably modern air conditioning unit, the interior of the prison transport truck was very warm. Even with the sun gone and the temperatures beginning their nightly plunge, the truck’s metal outer skin took a good long while to cool down and heat therefore still emanated into the cabin.
The driver’s compartment was roomy, capable of holding the driver and at least four companions. The driver was usually the Chief Transport Officer. Officer Gregory, however, switched out a few miles back and allowed a subordinate to drive. He stood in the narrow passageway between the front cabin and the prisoner cells and stared at the crate before the driver’s compartment. It housed Joshua Landon. Officer Gregory couldn’t help but think of his conversation with Warden Manning about this prisoner.
Joshua Landon was once again engaged in his vigorous exercise routine. So focused was the prisoner on his routine that Officer Gregory wondered if he even knew he was no longer in Segmore.
“You've been staring at him for close to a half hour,” came a voice from in front of the young transport officer. It was one of the newbie transport guards. Like the others, he carried a fearsome automatic and was well trained in its use. Unlike the others, he remained inquisitive about the ins and outs of his new job and was not shy about asking questions.
“This guy’s some kind of hard case?”
“He was at Segmore,” Gregory said.
“So were the rest,” the guard said. “Is he a pussycat now?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’re letting us transfer him to the city. He must be rehabbed, right?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Officer Gregory looked the newbie in the eyes. He could see a little of his old self in this transport officer. Maybe he too made a nuisance of himself at one time asking his superiors similar questions. Maybe. Officer Gregory faced the door leading back to the driver’s compartment.
“I have one job to worry about and one job only: Getting this truck from the Big City to Segmore and back again. As for the cargo, they’re my concern only while in my care. The moment they’re gone, they’re someone else’s responsibility and problem.”
“So this guy…?”
“He’s just another job,” Officer Gregory said. “To you and me. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” the newbie said.
“Good.”
With that, Officer Gregory entered the driver’s compartment and closed the door behind him.
Back at the Segmore Prison, Warden Manning finished his early evening rounds and made his way back to the office. He passed through the now vacant yard and into the west side of the building. After taking a retinal scan and offering a palm scanner his handprint, he rode the security elevator to the top floor and stepped past a sterile hallway and into his secretary’s office.
He had every intention of walking directly to his office but was stopped.
“Sir?” Elizabeth said.
“Yes?”
“I...I don't get it,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“All phone and computer lines are open. I'm getting feeds from all the Big City’s central systems, including media. I can –and have– sent out dozens of messages.”
“So?”
“I have yet to receive one since we last talked.”
Warden Manning’s jaw locked into place.
“The last time we talked was just before the transport truck took off,” he said.
He eyed his watch. After the transport truck left, his focus was on delivering the new prisoners to their cells and storing away the cargo. He had all but forgotten about the prisoner transfer addendum and his reservations concerning Joshua Landon. Those worries came roaring back.
“It’s been over an hour. You still haven't gotten hold of Rupert?”
“No sir. It's like we—”
A loud beep interrupted her and the screen of her computer lit up. A long list of messages appeared on the screen.
“About time!” Elizabeth said. Her eyes narrowed. “Sir, we have Chief Supervisor Rupert’s office on the line!”
Warden Manning circled his secretary’s desk and stood at her side. She pressed a series of keys and the image of a young man appeared on her main computer screen. It was Daniel Cummings, Chief Supervisor Rupert’s personal secretary.
“This is Supervisor Rupert's office. Can you read me, Segmore?”
Warden Manning pulled back his secretary’s chair.
“Let me,” he said.
Elizabeth allowed the Warden to sit before her computer.
“This is Warden Manning at the Segmore Facility,” he said.
“Warden Manning?” came his reply. “We’ve been trying to reach you for—”
“Yes, we’ve had communication problems. Could I please speak to Supervisor Rupert?”
“Yes sir. He wants to speak to you as well. One moment.”
The screen momentarily turned black before the image of an elderly, chubby man with bright brown eyes appeared. It was Chief Supervisor Rupert.
“Warden Manning?” Rupert said. “What the hell is going on?”
“Sir?”
“We've been trying to reach you for well over an hour. We have yet to receive your confirmation of the prisoner transfers.”
Warden Manning looked up at his secretary. She shook her head.
“I sent them when they left,” she whispered.
Warden Manning nodded.
“Sir, my secretary tells me they were sent after the transport departed. We had a question—”
“Hold on,” Chief Supervisor Rupert interrupted. He moved away from the camera. “Daniel? Has the transfer documentation arrived?”
From somewhere off camera came his reply:
“No sir.”
Chief Supervisor Rupert’s head returned to the center of the screen. He scowled.
“This is damn irregular, Warden Manning,” he said. “We've sent at least a dozen confirmation notices. You haven't received any of them?”
Warden Manning attention returned to his Secretary. Once again, she shook her head.
“N...no sir,” Manning replied. “Sir, we also sent you a message, requesting verification of a transfer addendum.”
“Addendum?”
“Yes sir. We received an addendum from your office a few minutes before the transport arrived.”
“Who was on that addendum?”
“Joshua Lando
n.”
The color in Chief Supervisor Rupert’s face drained.
“I…the military…made no such request,” he said. His voice was low, quiet. In it was an unmistakable element of fear.
“But…but the transfer documents were legitimate and had the proper codes. They were military issued and counter-verified—”
“Warden Manning, there was no authorization for the transfer of Joshua Landon. Your orders were fake.”
Chief Supervisor Rupert sat back in his chair.
“Warn the transport craft,” Rupert told his secretary. “Do it now.”
In his metal crate, Joshua Landon continued his exercise.
Sweat dripped from his body and onto the narrow floor. His prison outfit was stained, his shock collar drenched.
The lights on the shock collar’s control panel were a steady green. Joshua Landon didn’t notice them, nor did he pay attention to the shackles on his arms and legs. He moved within their limits, pushing his body to its extreme, keeping himself ready, though he did not know for what.
There was a mild flicker of lights outside the crate and, simultaneously, on his shock collar. The green lights turned red momentarily before flashing green.
Joshua Landon abruptly stopped his routine.
His dull blue eyes, focused on nothing, sharpen. A long missing fire appeared in those no longer vacant eyes.
Joshua Landon reached for the shock collar and pulled at it. Its locking mechanism was disabled and the collar slid off. Joshua Landon didn’t waste time. He opened the collar’s panels and ripped out pieces of metal plating. He set the pieces aside until he found one that had the right size and shape.
It was a long and thin piece of metal. It fit into the shackles’ locks…
The indicator lights outside the metal crates were all green.
Routine set in rapidly for the transport crew. Most were counting the two hours left before reaching the Big City and the comforts of home.
Two guards sat in metal chairs towards the front of the cargo bay. Officer Gregory no longer watched over Joshua Landon’s crate. He returned to his seat beside the driver at the front of the truck. The two guards in his place had little to do but inspect their weapons and examine the many crates’ indicator lights. The guards’ bodies swayed each time the truck hit a bump in the desert road or made a turn. The movement didn’t bother them much.