Divine Justice

by David Baldacci

  a file in his hand, opened it and read through the contents.

  A minute later he slipped off his glasses and gazed across at Stone. “Anthony Butcher, triple murderer, fortunate enough to have done it in a state that does not believe in capital punishment. So you received a life sentence without possibility of parole instead of the execution you so well deserved. Transferred out of four different correctional facilities over the last twelve years, including the supermax in Arkansas, because you have an anger issue.” He glanced down at the file. “And a problem respecting authority.”

  Stone glanced at Knox and then back at Tyree, his anger at what was being done to them building beyond all hope of containment. Stone knew he shouldn’t but he also couldn’t stop himself. “How much does one of those scripts cost, Howie? They must come in real handy in your line of work.”

  The warden tapped his thumb on the table and one of the guards handed him his billy club and a towel along with a bungee cord. Tyree stood, took his time wrapping the towel around the head of the club and secured it there with the cord.

  The next instant Stone was slumped sideways in his chair, blood running down his battered face.

  Tyree sat back down after dropping the bloody club on the table. He resumed looking at the file after methodically wiping a speck of Stone’s blood off his glasses with a handkerchief he pulled from his pants pocket.

  “With the towel it doesn’t really leave much of a mark,” he murmured in a casual tone. “We find that helpful in keeping order here. Prisoners have far too much time to complain about trivial things.”

  He thumbed through more pages of the file and then pointed at Knox. “You’re Richard Prescott, a.k.a. Richie Patterson from the great state of Mississippi. Killed two people in an armed robbery in Newark twenty-one years ago and one more since you came into the correctional system. The Garden State didn’t want you anymore so you’re now our guest for the rest of your natural life.” He said all this as though he were reciting tedious lecture notes to an auditorium full of bored college freshman.

  “My name is Joseph P. Knox of the Central Intelligence Agency. And in about twenty-four hours there’ll be an army of feds at this place, and the next thing you know, you assholes are the ones who’ll be rotting in a supermax.”

  Tyree hit Knox so hard with the billy club that the chair tore loose from its underpinning and he fell over unconscious onto the slab floor.

  Tyree closed the file. “Get ’em up.”

  The guards unhooked them from the chair shackles and pulled the men to their feet.

  Tyree looked at the unconscious Knox. He said in a weary tone, “Wake him up, George. He has to hear this.”

  A bucket of water was thrown in Knox’s face. Gagging, he came to, spitting up water and his own blood.

  Tyree waited for Knox to catch his breath and then paced in front of the two with his hands clasped behind him.

  “This is the Blue Spruce Supermax Prison. It is unlike any prison you gentlemen may be familiar with. My name is Howard W. Tyree. I am privileged to be the warden of this outstanding facility. Here, we receive from all over prisoners who have problems adjusting to the life of incarceration, or simply who have problems in general. Our sister prisons sent you here because at Blue Spruce we specialize in being problem solvers. We have never had any disruptions here or, needless to say, any escapes. We are a professional organization. So long as you follow the rules, you will have no reasonable cause for concern for your personal safety either from your fellow prisoners or the fine men who guard this place.”

  Blood from both Stone and Knox dripped onto the floor as Tyree was talking. He impatiently flicked a finger at one of his men, who quickly cleaned it up with the billy club towel.

  “Excessive force is only used here when absolutely necessary. Just so we’re clear on the boundaries, I will demonstrate.”

  He stopped pacing and faced the two men.

  “If a prisoner does not instantly obey a command from a guard, this level of force can and will be utilized.”

  Tyree took the billy club from the guard and slammed it point first into Stone’s gut. Stone bent over, throwing up what little there was in his belly, and then dropped to the floor.

  Tyree calmly kept going. “Please keep in mind that at Blue Spruce, unlike other correctional institutions, warnings to inmates of any kind are not required and typically will not be given. Unauthorized action on the part of any inmate will be met with immediate consequences.” Tyree paused to let Stone be wrenched back to his feet, still heaving and gasping for air.

  Continuing, Tyree said, “If a prisoner in any way verbally abuses a guard, this level of force can and will be utilized.”

  Tyree slammed into the still dazed Knox, knocking him to the floor. He pushed the billy club against his throat until the man turned blue and his body started to spasm from lack of oxygen.

  Tyree got up, tossed the club to one of the guards and a gagging Knox was heaved back to his feet.

  Dusting off his pants, Tyree went on. “If a prisoner in any way threatens bodily harm to and/or physically attacks a guard, deadly force can and will be utilized without prior warning.”

  Tyree nodded at one of his guards, who pulled out his pistol and handed it to the warden. He checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber, popped off the safety, lifted the gun up and aimed at Stone’s head.

  “For Chrissakes! Don’t!” screamed Knox through his busted mouth.

  The door opened and a tall black man was hauled in, his face bloody and swollen, and his hands and legs chained together, forcing him into a prisoner shuffle. The guards slammed him up against a section of wall that was paneled in a rubbery material covered in pockmarks and then moved away.

  Tyree explained, “This man attacked a guard barely five minutes ago. He felt it violated his civil rights to be beaten for extending his middle finger to one of my men because he’d made a silly little joke about this fellow’s mama.”

  Tyree swung the pistol around and fired a round into the black man’s head. He slumped to the floor, an exit crater blown into the back of his head. A part of his brain along with the slug was embedded into the rubber wall behind, leaving another large pockmark.

  “And he was shot while trying to escape after taking a hostage, all of which we have duly documented for regulatory review.”

  Tyree handed the gun back and resumed his pacing. “Those are basically the rules here. We keep them short and simple so that you will have no trouble remembering and thus following them. Please also keep in mind that here you have no privacy, no rights, no dignity and no reasonable expectation of anything except what we say you can have. At the moment you walked into this facility you ceased to be human beings. Indeed, because of the crimes that you have committed against humanity you have forfeited all rights to be considered human beings. No guard at this prison will have any compunction about ending your life at any moment and for any reason. You now will be officially processed into this prison’s inmate population. If you give us no trouble, I can reasonably assure that you will live out your lives here in relative peace and security, though I cannot say how long that life will be. Supermax facilities are by their very nature dangerous places. We of course will make all reasonable attempts to ensure your safety, but there are no guarantees.” He paused and faced them. “Welcome to Dead Rock, gentlemen. I can guarantee that you will not enjoy your stay with us.”

  CHAPTER 62

  ANNABELLE WALKED INTO RITA’S, pausing at the door to survey the landscape. Half the tables were filled, as were all the stools at the counter.

  “Can I help you?” A man came around the bar and was looking at her.

  “I was looking for Abby Riker?”

  “She’s not here. She’s at home.”

  “Midsummer’s Farm?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Sheriff Tyree told me to come and see her.”

  “Oh, well I guess that’s okay then. You might want to call out
to the house and talk to her.”

  “Do you have her number?”

  Annabelle made the call. When Abby answered it was clear that she had been crying. She didn’t want to talk to Annabelle until she mentioned the man Abby knew as Ben.

  “He’s my father.” Annabelle quickly told her the same story she’d told Tyree.

  “He told me his daughter and his wife were dead,” Abby said coldly.

  “My mother is dead. Has been for decades. He told you I was dead because that’s how he protects me.”

  “Government spy type? I knew there was something about him. Just different, you know?”

  “Yep, that’s my dad. Different. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  “He was at the hospital yesterday. Along with my son, Danny. Now they’ve both disappeared. I’m worried sick for a lot of reasons.”

  “Sheriff Tyree told me about what’s been happening around here. I guess you have good reason to worry. Can I come out to see you?”

  “Why?”

  “Right now you’re the closest lead I have to my dad.”

  “I told you I don’t know where he is. Or my son either.”

  “But you might remember something if we keep talking about it. Please, it’s my only shot.”

  “All right.” Abby told her how to get to the place and a little while later Annabelle was seated across from Abby in her living room. Caleb had parked the van well back and had stayed there with Reuben. Annabelle tried various lines of questioning and Abby answered each of them, but nothing she learned helped her.

  “Had you two become friends?”

  Choosing her words carefully, Abby said, “He’s a good listener. Not judgmental. I find that a rare combination. I hope he’s all right.” A tear slid down her cheek. “He had a way about him too. Just made you feel good about yourself.”

  “Do you think he and your son might have left the hospital together?”

  “I don’t know. Danny was pretty beat up. If it wasn’t for Ben.” She stopped and looked at Annabelle. “What’s his real name?”

  Annabelle hesitated, but Abby appeared to be genuinely concerned about Stone. “Oliver.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Oliver I wouldn’t have my son at all, so whatever I can do to help you I will.”

  “If you think of anything that might be helpful you can reach me at this number.” She handed Abby a card, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and left.

  Back in the van, she sat lost in thought in the passenger seat.

  “What do we do now, Annabelle?” asked Caleb, while Reuben stared at her curiously.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She started and looked at him. “What? Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Boy, Abby Riker has some big bucks,” said Reuben as he glanced back at the enormous house.

  “Yeah, only thing it cost her was her husband.”

  “What do we do now, Annabelle?” Caleb asked again.

  Annabelle didn’t say anything, because she didn’t have an answer.

  Where the hell are you, Oliver?

  CHAPTER 63

  BEING PROCESSED into Dead Rock included standing bent over naked with your butt cheeks spread as painfully as possible while a group of men and one woman looked on. The woman was also videotaping the proceedings, which added considerably to the dignity of the event. The body cavity search completed, their heads were then shaved.

  Suspicion of lice, Stone heard one guard say, while another chuckled about a weapon perhaps being concealed in their hair roots.

  They sat crouched in a corner naked while men scrubbed them raw with stiff brushes that felt steel-tipped. After this a fire hose blasted them with such force that they were pinned against the wall like ants at the mercy of a berserk garden hose.

  Dressed in orange jumpsuits, cuffed and shackled, they were led down a stone hall to a cell. Guards held stun guns an inch from their prisoners’ sides, seemingly just praying for a reason to hit them with a 50,000-volt tickle. The cell door was solid two-inch steel with a food and cuffing slot cut into the bottom half and a small viewing window in the upper half. They were pushed in, the shackles removed, the jagged links stripping at their skin, and then the door slammed shut and was loudly bolted behind them.

  Knox and Stone slumped down next to each other as their gazes drifted dully over the eight-by-twelve-foot space. There was a steel toilet and sink unit bolted to the wall with no knobs that could be fashioned into weapons. There was also a steel slab for a desk and two steel slabs on the wall with a thin plastic mattress and pillow on each. A six-inch vertical slit in the thick concrete block and rebar wall constituted the sole window.

  For the next half hour each man groaned and moaned and rubbed at innumerable bruises, cuts and bumps on their bodies.

  Knox finally sat back against the wall, wiggled a loose tooth in the back of his mouth with his finger and looked over at Stone. “Whatever the hell happened to due process?”

  “It seems to be growing less popular these days,” Stone replied as he rubbed at a knot the size of a quarter on the side of his head.

  “I’m surprised they put us in here together. I’d assumed we’d be segregated.”

  “They did it because they don’t care what we tell each other.”

  “You mean because we’re never getting out?”

  “We don’t really exist. They can do anything they want. And he murdered a man right in front of us. That shows he doesn’t expect us to be a witness anytime soon. You think the cell is bugged?”

  “I doubt they care that much, but you never know.”

  Stone drew closer and lowered his voice to a whisper and tapped his shoes against the walls to disrupt any audio surveillance. “Any chance your agency will find you?”

  Knox joined in the wall-tapping. “There’s always a chance. Looks like the only one we’ve got right now. But even if they do, you realize how many places there are to hide us here. Like you said, we don’t exist.”

  “And they can always kill us. Invisible in life, nothing in death. Who sent you after me?”

  “I guess it would sound pretty stupid to say that’s classified under the present circumstances. Macklin Hayes.”

  A tiny smile crept across Stone’s face. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “You served under him.”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “I didn’t serve under him, I survived him.”

  “You’re not the first to tell me that.”

  “I’d be surprised if I were.”

  “You earned that medal. Why didn’t you get it?”

  Stone looked surprised. “How’d you find out about that?”

  “Did some digging. You were a slam dunk for the big one.”

  “Every soldier in my company would’ve done the same for me.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. I was over there too. All soldiers are not created equal. So why didn’t you get it? I looked at the paperwork. It stopped at Hayes.”

  Stone shrugged. “I haven’t given it that much thought over the years.”

  “You did something to really piss off the man, didn’t you?”

  “If I did, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “Tell me.”

  “No, I’m not going to tell you!”

  “Okay, next subject. I know you killed Gray and Simpson.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Is that a confession?”

  Stone picked up the intensity of the tapping. “Right now we need to come up with a way to get out of here. Because if we don’t it won’t matter to either of us what I did or didn’t do.”

  “Okay, I’m listening,” said Knox.

  “And I’m still thinking. But if we do escape, what are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stone’s eyes flashed. “You know what the hell I mean. About me?”

  “If I had to answer you now I’d say
I was going to complete my assignment and turn your ass in.”

  Stone took this in and finally nodded. “Okay. Fair enough. Just so we know where we stand.”

  “So fill me in on the events leading up to us ending up here.”

  Stone started talking. A half hour later he was finished as both