Prison Code

by Don Pendleton

  “I will, Warden, and thank you.”

  “You’re a spook, Link.”

  Whitmore nodded. “I was.”

  “That blond DOJ bitch is coming again the day after tomorrow. I want you to help me reset the positions of the hidden cameras, and I want you watching the interview as it happens.”

  Whitmore stared at the heroin with ill-concealed longing, and another part of him was genuinely happy to be doing what he was best at. “Glad to oblige, Warden.”

  Chapter 15

  BOLAN EXAMINED HIS handiwork. He’d had Patrick go retrieve the defense pencil from Kal. The soldier had invested some time in removing the sole of his left shoe with the surgical steel needle, then using the camouflaged weapon to dig a channel that fit the weapon perfectly in the hard rubber sole. He’d recoated the toes of both shoes with wood glue for fighting, and then applied just enough of what remained to reattach the sole on the left one. It was a dangerous gamble. Wood glue wasn’t designed for holding rubber together. It was a brittle polymer and not intended to bend and flex with every step. If the soldier’s shoe fell apart and the weapon rolled out at an inopportune time, there would be trouble. Bolan smiled grimly at his weaponized shoes.

  He was in trouble now, and when everything hit the fan he was going to need to access with one good yank the fatal surprise the Cowboy had crafted for him.

  Bolan slipped on his shoes. The upgrades made them stiff, but they had been stiff to begin with, and the soldier expected to be dead or breathing fresh air long before his prison issues ever got broken in. He took a deep breath and self-assessed. His legs ached; his back ached; his belly ached. The good news was that nothing was on fire anymore. Rather than pink, his urine was a sunshine-yellow from the partly indigestible prison food, the solid portions of which he could now hold down. Bolan chose to be a glass half-full kind of guy and gave himself an optimistic forty-seven percent fighting efficiency rating, and rising.

  He wondered if that, a .22-caliber pen with one reload, and shoes glued to inflict the blues would be enough to take on an entire prison.

  It was just going to have to be.

  Bolan stepped out onto the tier. Patrick looked positively giddy and shot him the thumbs-up. He was clearly ready for Armageddon, or at least thought he was, and definitely wanted a piece of the action. Rudolpho the Elder stared circumspectly at Bolan and the shoes the soldier wore. The Mafia made man was hoping for some light at the end of the tunnel and was pretty sure he was asking for too much.

  “You got another big date today?”

  “That I do. You got another service appointment scheduled?”

  Rudy gave Bolan a sly look. “Officer Renzo is about to experience connectivity issues with her tablet in, wait for it—” Rudy glanced at his watch “—five...four...three...two...one....”

  A feminine voice snarled from C Block’s floor level. “Goddamn it!”

  Bolan snorted. “Rudy, you rule the school.”

  “Thanks.”

  Officer Renzo stormed onto Tier 3 in a thundercloud of Sicilian fury. “Rudy!”

  Rudy was nonplussed. “What have you done now?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Internet connection issues?”

  “It keeps dumping me,” Renzo complained.

  Rudy raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing?”

  Renzo’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “If I fix it I’m going to find out, anyways.”

  Renzo looked at the trio of cons before her and lowered her voice. “I was checking my profile on Pennsylvanianal Profession Singles, fuck you very much, and if that gets out among the population, you’re dead.”

  Rudy sighed. “Those sites are no good. Everyone is exchanging information and links. Half the profiles on any of them are fakes to trawl for personal information or distribute viruses.”

  “Oh...shit,” Renzo responded.

  “Yeah, I’ll look at it.”

  “If you do anything weird with it...”

  “Do I look that stupid?” Rudy asked.

  “You were stupid enough to get yourself sent here.”

  Bolan gave Rudy credit for taking that one on the chin.

  “Do I look stupid enough to screw over a guard? I’ve got enough problems, Officer.”

  “I’ll give you that, Rudy. But men in here get bored, and bored men get strange ideas.”

  “Nothing strange with you or any of your personal data, Officer Renzo.” Rudy made the sign of the cross over his lips and kissed his fingers. “I swear.”

  Renzo smiled and handed over her tablet. “Grazie, Rudolpho.”

  “Prego.” Rudy shot Bolan a shit-eating grin as Renzo wandered off none the wiser.

  “You are slick,” Bolan acknowledged. “I think she likes you.”

  Rudy let out a long sigh as the rearview of the Italian pulchritude disappeared down the steps. “In my dreams, and then I wake up and miss my wife.”

  Bolan reminded himself that both Rudy and his son were convicted felons.

  The porcine sight of Officer Barnes mounting Tier 3 replaced Renzo. He smiled happily at Bolan. He liked girls, and good-looking ones kept coming to visit Cooper. “Let’s go, Cooper! Warden’s office! You have an official visitor!”

  The Warden’s Office

  “LAST CHANCE, COOPER,” Price snarled. The interview had been fairly short and sweet. Bolan could communicate through the library, and Rudy literally had a malfunction time bomb in any electronic device put in his hands. Barnes’s and Renzo’s computer problems were pernicious and persistent, enough that Rudy literally had a device a day coming in for the next week to allow Bolan direct communication. Price was mostly here because the meet had already been scheduled, she wanted to keep up appearances with Warden Linder, and she and Kurtzman both wanted an eyeball witness to make sure Bolan really was all right. Bolan and Price’s Morse code had consisted mostly of “Are you all right?” “Are you communicating under duress?” and “Do you want extraction?”

  Bolan signaled negatory on all counts, while Price kept up a steady stream of threats. “Marshal” Avery Roy stood staring like a stone Buddha. Bolan gave the appearance of sweating under the pressure.

  Warden Linder looked over at his phone as it vibrated. He waved at Price to continue, and appeared to be checking a text. Bolan kept up his facade while Linder put one on. The warden wouldn’t have made a good poker player. He was used to being in the power position and cruelly manipulating people. Suddenly putting on a poker face was out of character, and Bolan didn’t care for it. The soldier could tell Price had picked up on it, as well.

  Linder texted back and put down his phone. “I’m sorry, where were we again?”

  Price gave the warden an exasperated look. “I was kind of hoping you and I were starting to become a team on this.”

  “This what?” Linder asked innocently.

  Price gazed upon Bolan scathingly. “This one.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  Zavala stuck his head in the door breathlessly. “Warden!”

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “We got real trouble in A Block!”

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  Everyone lifted their head as the alarm began to wail. It was literally a World War II air raid siren, and sounded as if the end of the world was on the way.

  “Goddamn it!” Linder slammed his fist down on the table. “Lockdown! Zavala! Take Cooper back to his cell! Get Renzo to escort Agent Price and the marshal from the facility! ASAP!”

  Zavala jerked his head. “Let’s go, Cooper!”

  Linder rose. “I’m sorry, Agent Price, Marshal Roy. We’ll have to resume this meeting another day.”

  Bolan got off one rapid blink at Price, signaling, “Get out now.”


  “Move, Cooper!”

  The soldier followed Zavala out. Boots thudded in the corridors. Nonessential personnel moved swiftly and calmly toward the gates. The soldier gave Linder credit for running a tight ship.

  Zavala marched Bolan back to C Block and into his cell. He bellowed down to the floor, “Cooper accounted for!”

  Barnes shouted back from C Block’s gate in a surprisingly thunderous voice. “C Block accounted for! Lockdown!”

  Every cell rattled simultaneously as doors slammed shut and locked.

  “C Block lockdown confirmed!”

  Zavala’s smile was sickening. He failed to overcome his innately sadistic tendencies as he whispered through the bars, “Nice knowing you, Cooper.”

  Administration Section

  “RENZO!”

  Renzo, Price and Roy turned to see Officers Johnson and Stewart marching up swiftly behind them. “What’s up, RayRay?” Renzo asked.

  “We have a potential riot situation,” Johnson said. “The warden wants you up in the tower.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  “Lockdown hasn’t been achieved in A Block. If this goes full blown, you’re going to want to be in the tower with a rifle. Worse comes to worst, they can extract you through the top hatch by helicopter.”

  “Listen.”

  “You already told me no,” Johnson advised. “You wanna try to tell the Force and every man in Aryan Acres no with nothing but a baton and pepper spray?”

  Renzo chewed her lip.

  Stewart rolled his eyes. “It’s an order, if that makes it any easier to swallow, and besides, everyone knows you’re the best shot with a rifle. We need you up top. We’ll take care of the brawling if it comes down to it.”

  Renzo swallowed her pride and accepted her assignment. “Agent? Marshal? While you are in Duivelstad I’m remanding you into the custody of Officers Johnson and Stewart. They’ll take you straight to Admissions, return your sidearms and escort you out the main gate.”

  Price shot Roy a look. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Renzo broke into a run down the corridor. Stewart nodded at an exit arrow. “Follow me.”

  Price took out her phone. “I need to make a call right now.”

  “No time,” Johnson admonished. “We have to get you out.”

  “I need just one—”

  Price’s eyes flew wide as Roy groaned and dropped to his knees. Officer Stewart was shanking him over the kidneys and liver like a sewing machine. Roy dropped and Stewart rose, grinning and brandishing a bloodstained spike of steel he had confiscated from a con long ago and kept in his throwaway weapon stash.

  Price pushed a single button on her phone and threw it in Stewart’s face. The Farm had been hit before. Price’s life had been in danger. She wasn’t a field operative but she had learned various self-defense moves. Price forked the first two fingers of her right hand and lunged forward for Officer Stewart’s eyes.

  Price’s spear fingers never hit home.

  A sledgehammer blow struck her just below her ribs. White fire lit behind Price’s eyes, and she lost control of her limbs. Her attack turned into a collapse and she literally fell into Stewart’s arms.

  Delighted, he stroked Price’s cheek with the bloody shank. “Oh, baby, I knew you wanted me the first time I saw you.”

  * * *

  “GET ON THE horn, Rudy,” Bolan ordered. “Now.”

  Sirens continued to wail. There had been one attempted riot during Warden Linder’s reign. It had originated in B Block, and it had been ruthlessly crushed before it could spread outward. Men muttered on every tier. Some whooped and hollered. Others banged objects against the bars or threw toilet paper rolls in solidarity with whatever was happening, or just out of excitement.

  Rudy looked up from furious typing on Renzo’s tablet. “You’re connected.”

  “Are Price and Roy out?” They each swallowed a gel cap–size transmitter before every entry into Duivelstad, which gave their location to the satellite Kurtzman had tasked above. The tiny devises also had the ability to monitor their basic vital signs.

  Rudy grimaced at Kurtzman’s response. “Your guy says negative. Roy is in the morgue section of the clinic and has assumed a temperature of 39.2˚ Fahrenheit.”

  Bolan frowned and took a long breath. “Where’s Price?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a part of D-Town I’ve never been in.”

  Bolan looked over Rudy’s shoulder, and the sum of all fears manifested itself. “She’s in the lounge.”

  “Jesus...”

  “Tell Bear to open my door.”

  “He says he can’t open yours without opening all of them.” Rudy gave Bolan a leery look. “You want every cell in C Block open in a riot situation?”

  “I have a key!” Patrick held up Bolan’s length of flexible charges. “When I heard the siren I went and got it from Kal. He kept two for himself. I said okay. Oh, and I gave him his book back and told him what you told me to. That’s okay, right?”

  “That’s all right.” Bolan took the length and pinched off one of the charges. The cells in D-Town were electronically controlled, but a guard’s key could override an individual cell. Bolan pushed his high-explosive key into the door and pressed down on the pin to activate it. The soldier stepped back as the flexible charge detonated and a jet of smoke and fire shot out of the lock. The whole block went silent at the sound.

  The tracks rattled as Bolan flung back the door to his cage.

  Cell Block C erupted as he stepped out onto the tier during lockdown and strode toward the steps. Rudy and Patrick followed.

  “Hang back,” Bolan ordered. He passed Kal’s cell, saying, “You’re going to have to make a decision.”

  Bolan kicked off his shoes and ripped open his left heel. He palmed his inner city defense pencil and stepped to the stairs. Zavala was coming up. The guard wore body armor and a helmet. He led with a ballistic riot shield, and held his baton cocked and ready for use. Zavala should have had a gun.

  The soldier pushed his pencil’s clip to arm it. Zavala hit the landing ready to crack skulls. Bolan dropped to one knee and put up his left palm, feeling a flash of pain run down his arm as Zavala crashed into him. Bolan rammed the pencil’s push button into the instep of the guard’s left shoe and squeezed the clip. The weapon made a snapping noise and Zavala screamed as the .22 round burst through the small bones of his foot. Bolan shoved hard against the riot shield as Zavala’s pain and shock made him lift his left foot.

  The prison guard toppled down the stairs, shrieking.

  The stone vault of Cell Block C echoed with cheers as if it was the Hunger Games. Scores of cons screamed to be released. Bolan stripped Zavala of his shield, baton and radio, then cuffed him to the tier rail. The soldier reloaded his pencil as he marched down to floor level.

  Officer Barnes stood behind the gate, the bars of which were sheathed inside and out with ballistic plastic. Barnes regarded Bolan in horror and shouted across the intercom. “Cooper! Stand down!”

  “Open the door, Barnes.”

  Barnes’s face set into startlingly hard lines. He drew a dark green Glock pistol from his holster and racked a round. “Cooper, go back to your cell.”

  Bolan shouted back behind him. “I need the guard’s gate! Cell Block C!”

  Barnes raised his pistol in both hands. “Cooper, don’t!”

  The entry gate was on a different circuit than the cell doors. Back in Virginia, Kurtzman’s ghost in Devil Town’s machine moved and C Block’s gate rattled opened. Bolan raised his shield as Barnes, to his credit, started shooting. The ballistic shield bucked, shuddered and spalled, but it was being hit with the small arms fire it was built to resist. The soldier stepped into the C Block gate room. Barnes got smart and aimed for his adversary’s legs. B
olan dropped low and took two more shots to the shield as he closed. He rose and gave Barnes a Captain America–worthy blow with his shield. Barnes splayed back against the wall and collapsed to the floor.

  Bolan took his pistol, Sam Browne belt and disappointing one spare magazine. He cuffed Barnes to the duty desk and then moved to the block control board. It consisted of a red light, a green light and a switch for each cell in C Block. All the lights were red for locked except Bolan’s. The soldier hated to do it, but he flicked a switch and on the third tier a second sensor blinked from red to green.

  Kal’s cell was open.

  Bolan unscrewed the lights and switched them. It wouldn’t fool anyone for very long, but in a hurry, and an emergency, someone might not notice the green light was on the wrong side on a console of glowing lights.

  Bolan gave it fifty-fifty that Kal would march downstairs and cripple him. “Rudy!”

  Rudy appeared in the open gate with the Farm’s tablet schematic of D-Town in hand. “Could you shout my name a little louder?”

  “Shout out to key-master Rudy!” Bolan roared out to the block.

  Only iron bars prevented C Block from doing the wave as they roared approval.

  “You suck.”

  Bolan grinned. “I own you.”

  Patrick came through the gates as giddy as a schoolboy as he took in his tenuous lockdown freedom. “Awesome!”

  “Tell the Bear I need a cascade of doors opening before me and locking behind.”

  Rudy typed, We’re heading for the lounge.

  “Yeah.”

  The door across the chamber rolled open under Kurtzman’s ministrations.

  “RayRay and Stu will be there.”

  Bolan checked the load in his new Glock. Barnes had gotten off seven rounds. The soldier switched in the fully loaded spare magazine. “I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter 16

  WARDEN LINDER DREW a .45 Colt Government Model from his drawer. He cocked and locked the pistol. “What’s the situation?”

  Schoenaur grinned. “Cell Block A has been compromised. The Aryans are holding it and making demands. They’re holding two guards hostage. They haven’t been harmed, as ordered.”