‘Quit bitchin’, Tusker, and get movin’.’
‘Just give me a minute, will yer? My old lungs don’t process the air as good as they should. I use the term “air” loosely, of course. Smells like raw sewage. We can only guess what we’re taking into our lungs.’
The guard rolled his eyes.
A tinny computer-generated voice announced the time over the speakers.
Stratton wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve as he waited for Hamlin to move on. He pondered on the humming sound that had grown louder with their descent. The sound of water was still the most noticeable noise; a green, frothy liquid ran down a gutter on one side of the concrete path. The wall on the same side was practically hidden by a variety of piping and conduits, some of it hanging loosely where the original fastenings had corroded or broken off.
Hamlin sighed heavily and moved on, ducking below a large metal brace that secured a cluster of enormous air ducts to the ceiling.The men weaved between clumps of dripping fungus as they headed steadily downhill.
The lights dimmed suddenly as the voltage dropped. The guard produced a flashlight as Hamlin slowed to a more careful pace.The sloping path became long steps as its angle steepened. Stratton reckoned that they were approaching the lowest depths of the prison. A broad tunnel appeared ahead, cutting across their path. As the lights returned to full brightness voices penetrated through the other noises, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps. Stratton realised the sound was coming from behind them.
‘Step aside,’ a voice called out and the three men moved against the pipe-covered wall.
A guard led half a dozen prisoners at a brisk pace down the long steps. The perspiring inmates were all wearing heavy-duty overalls, robust boots, mining helmets and harnesses from which various tools and pouches hung. They shuffled past, their hammers and chisels clanking, each man carrying an emergency breathing tank on his back with a full-face mask hanging from the valves by the head-straps.
‘That’s you in a couple of days, buddy,’ Hamlin said to Stratton.
‘They’re still mining pretty actively,’ Stratton observed. The report on the old mine had made only scant reference to current activity.
‘Some prisons do licence plates and street signs. Our extracurricular is workin’ the face.’
As the tail-end guard went past them into the larger tunnel he called for a halt. ‘Take a breather,’ he said, his voice echoing. ‘Last smoke before we go in.’
The guard looked at Stratton with sudden recognition and gave him a nod. ‘How you feelin’?’ he asked.
Stratton thought it was a strange question from a guard but he nodded anyway.
The guard joined Jed and his colleague and they all lit one up.
‘You don’t remember him, I s’pose,’ Hamlin said.
Stratton shook his head. ‘Should I?’
‘That’s Zack. He’s the guy who saved your ass from drownin’.’
Stratton looked back at the guard. These were odd circumstances in which to show appreciation to someone for saving your life.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Hamlin said as if he could read Stratton’s thoughts. ‘He’s just as likely to take it back if you step outta line. He’s one of the fair ones . . . It’s what this place was before they converted it,’ Hamlin said.
Stratton looked at him, wondering what he was talking about.
‘This place. It was a mining and agriculture experiment. ’
Stratton acted as if he knew nothing about the facility’s past. ‘What are they mining?’
‘Gems.When it was an experiment it cost the taxpayer a fortune to run and the yield didn’t even begin to cover the expenses.When it got closed down they kept the water pumps running. Rumour is that an engineer working on the site in those days wasn’t straight-up about the mine’s true potential. As they were closing down he found a new strike - a big one. Next thing you know a bunch of private investors came up with the plan to reopen the project as a prison. Pretty obvious all they really wanted was access to the mine. Pretty smart to get Uncle Sam to pay for the reopening and running of the facility. Even smarter to have a work force that don’t cost anything, ain’t goin’ anywhere and can’t tell anyone what’s goin’ on down here. Some of the guys have kept a few rocks for themselves but they ain’t goin’ anywhere with ’em. The guards get a nice fat tax-free bonus each month in a brown envelope to keep ’em sweet. And the CIA turns a blind eye to it all and even plays safety for the corporation because they get what they want.’
‘Pretty smart set-up all around,’ Stratton agreed.
Hamlin looked at him, the trace of a scowl on his face. ‘You think I’m as dumb as you, don’t you?’
Stratton looked into his angry eyes and was reminded of how unhinged the man really was. ‘We’re the ones down here working for them,’ Stratton said, pushing it, curious about the old man’s mental state. Hamlin was probably a genius which, as the saying went, was often close to madness.
‘Not for long, my friend. These pricks’ll remember the day they locked Tusker Hamlin up in here. They said it would be the last anyone ever heard from me. Well, they’re wrong, Mister Charon. They’re wrong.’
Hamlin continued to stare at Stratton, his look turning to one of curiosity. ‘Charon,’ Hamlin said, this time pronouncing it ‘Kar-on’, a smirk forming on his lips. ‘That’s very amusing . . . Now I know who you are.’
Stratton held his gaze. Since the guards were within earshot he was prepared to defend himself against any accusation that Hamlin might make.
‘You’re the ferryman.’
Stratton had no clue what the man was talking about.
‘The Styx ferryman,’ Hamlin continued. ‘Karon was sent by the gods to carry the dead souls of evil men down the Styx river and into hell.’
Stratton remembered the mythological story although he did not recall a ferryman. Hamlin had had him worried there for a moment.
‘OK, you guys,’ the guard called out. ‘Let’s get going. See yer later,’ he said, waving to his colleagues.
Stratton and Hamlin watched the miners trudge into the mine entrance. ‘What’s it like in there?’ Stratton asked.
‘Dunno,’ Hamlin said. ‘Never wanted to find out. Another reason I made myself an indispensable engineer. ’
The two men followed their guard further down the low-ceilinged tunnel for a short distance and stopped outside a large airlock door set in a broad reinforced concrete wall. The door had originally been painted blue but most of the coating had fallen off to reveal rusting metal below.
‘Jed at the air room,’ the guard said into his radio as he looked up at a black semi-sphere fixed to the ceiling above them.A second later there was a loud hiss, followed by a heavy clunk, and the door moved but only a couple of inches. The guard leaned his shoulder against it to help it open. ‘Piece o’ shit door,’ he grunted as he put all his effort behind it. The door opened slowly and he stepped back, out of breath, to let Hamlin and Stratton lead the way inside.
Two things struck Stratton with some force as the door opened. One was the sudden increase in machinery noise, the other was an intense smell like rotten eggs.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ the guard said, pushing him in.
Hamlin stepped through the door as if eager to get on with the job. ‘I find it almost refreshing,’ he said above the increased noise, sucking in the air as if it was nectar.
‘You would, you strange motherfucker,’ the guard said.
Hamlin pulled two pairs of ear defenders out of a box by the door and handed one set to Stratton. They afforded some relief from the high-pitched noise.
They were in a cavernous space, the largest single chamber in the facility. A thousand miles of ducts twisted in and out of several machines and up to the ceiling which they practically covered, finally disappearing through the walls in several places. In the spacious centre was a large wooden workbench covered in various machine parts and tools, with power jacks dangling
from the ceiling. It was a dishevelled-looking place, untidy, rusty and disorganised, like the bowels of a neglected supertanker. Metal stairways led up to various service gantries and walkways surrounding the bigger machines.
‘I’ll leave you guys to get on with it,’ shouted the guard.
‘Don’t hurry back,’ Hamlin replied caustically.
The guard waved him off and stepped back through the door, which closed behind him and sealed shut.
When Stratton looked back at Hamlin the man was grinning at him. ‘Welcome to my office,’ Hamlin shouted.
Stratton walked into the cavern, turning around to take it all in. ‘How much of the prison’s air does this place scrub?’ Stratton asked.
‘These only run the mine and inmate levels now. You’d need twice the number of scrubbers, all working efficiently, plus a couple thousand litres of oxygen a day to cover the entire place. There’s a mother of a surface barge takes care of the living quarters . . . The desalinators over there only provide part of the potable water. Those pumps’re pretty essential, though,’ he said, indicating four squat machines along one of the far walls, two of them running and responsible for much of the noise. ‘They dump a lot of the water. If they fail you’re lookin’ at shuttin’ down the entire lower sections, including the mine.’
‘If this place is so important how come they let you down here on your own?’
‘They got pretty lax with me over time. I do a good job, I’m twenty-four seven, and I’m free. I guess they think I’m harmless. There’s nothin’ serious I can do down here - or so they think. But they don’t know Tusker Hamlin as well as they think they do.’
Stratton chose not to question the remark and walked over to dozens of large steel gas bottles stacked in frames along a wall. They were an argon-oxygen mix, all connected together through an array of high-pressure pipes.
‘OCR emergency gas,’ Hamlin said. ‘It ain’t essential, though. Just a back-up.’
Stratton reckoned that two men could barely lift one of the bottles, never mind carry it very far. He had no specific interest in them and was simply filing away anything that might be of value.
‘Shall we get on with it, then?’ Hamlin asked, standing behind him.
Stratton had not heard him draw close. He looked around at the man and saw that he was wearing a strange smirk.
‘The door,’ Hamlin said. ‘Let’s test your theory.’
‘You mean open it?’
‘Sure. What else?’
‘It’s not something you can test and put away for another day. They’ll know in OCR as soon as it opens. We’ll only get one hit.’
‘Time’s running out for the both of us, especially for you,’ Hamlin said. ‘Gann ain’t the patient type. He’s gonna make his move soon.’
Hamlin was attempting to manipulate him by playing up the Gann threat. But the older man did not know how right he was. Gann was coming after him because he was the only witness to the ferry sabotage. This was no longer just a mission to get the tablet from Durrani. It had also become largely about Stratton’s survival.
He suddenly felt overwhelmed, his confidence about completing the mission in tatters.There was no way out for him, either. Even giving himself up and telling the truth about why he was in Styx was not going to save him. It would only make matters worse since his credibility as a witness would be too high. Stratton had bounced into the operation, all cocky and confident, not only about getting hold of the tablet but also making an historic escape.What an arrogant prick he was, he thought.
Stratton could feel his temples tighten as he realised the true level of his desperation. He was well and truly screwed. And now Hamlin wanted to open the door. But into what? Stratton had no idea where to go or what to do.Was everything down to waiting in ambush in some dark corner in the hope that Gann would amble past so that he could jump him? That was the best Stratton could come up with. It was pathetic. He felt like an amateur.
He looked at Hamlin who now represented the last vestige of hope he had to cling on to. His survival depended now on the plans of an old lunatic. Things could not get any worse. ‘Where’re you going if we get through that door?’
‘Let me explain somethin’ to you. I’ve spent two years, ever since the first day I walked into this joint, figuring out how to get out of here. One thing I hadn’t been able to figure were the doors and you walked into my life with the answer.That’s providence and I’m grabbing it with both hands. But I don’t owe you anything.’
‘Nothing for showing you how to open the door?’
‘You need that as much as I do. Maybe more. At least I have time on my hands. Yours is running out.’
‘You don’t even know it’ll work.’
‘It’ll work. You gave me the missing piece of the puzzle.’
‘Why can’t you take me with you to the ferry? That’s the only way out.’
‘Why don’t you just concentrate on your own problems? ’
‘Getting out that door doesn’t get me to Gann.’
‘Oh, I dunno. A resourceful guy might stack things in his favour.’
‘You’re full of shit, Hamlin. You’re just a crazy old man. I don’t see why I should help you if you can’t help me.’
Hamlin started to grin widely, displaying his stained and cracked teeth. ‘Maybe I can.’
‘I’m beginning to think you’re just an old windbag.’
Hamlin was still smiling. ‘I don’t know why I like you, ferryman. But I do . . . I know this place better’n anyone, even the people who built it, because I know the changes that were made when the corporation moved in. The original experiment needed independence from a surface barge. A life-support system floating on the surface defeated the whole idea. Failure in that department was probably why it got cancelled. The current surface barge was put in for the prison. They depend on it. It’s the key to helping the both of us. We need confusion. The barge provides air, water, power. We screw the barge up and we got ourselves a pretty neat diversion, just like a military operation.’
‘How can you do that from down here?’
Hamlin gave him a knowing smile once again. ‘This room houses all the distribution conduits for the prison since it was intended to be the main life-support factory. When they brought the barge in it made sense to utilise the distribution system that was already in place. That’s what I figured, at least. So I searched around. I discovered I was wrong to a certain extent. They rebuilt the water- and air-distribution system, added water pumps to level three, shut down the sterilisers and desalinators, reduced the workload for the air scrubbers. But what they did end up utilising was some eighty per cent of the power-distribution conduits.’
Hamlin walked over to a metal staircase and climbed to the top. ‘Come take a look,’ he said.
Stratton followed.
Hamlin led him along a gantry, around a corner, behind the line of scrubbers to an ordinary door. He reached for a small rock in the stone wall, removed it, put his hand inside the hole and withdrew a key. ‘One of the service engineers always used to leave the key in the door while he was working in here. I made a mould out of putty, took the key out of the lock one day and made an impression. Took me a while to make a copy of the key,’ he said as he put the key into the lock.‘It ain’t a perfect copy,’ he said, concentrating while manipulating it, massaging it back and forth. The key finally raised the tumblers and turned. ‘But it works in the end,’ he said as he opened the door.
Inside were several large dust-covered electrical cabinets. ‘These are just two of the transformers. But they’re an important pair - if you wanna screw up the others, that is.’
Hamlin opened the cupboards and Stratton looked at the complex array of high-powered cables, switches and junctions. ‘How do you know what feeds what?’ he asked.
Hamlin was still wearing that know-it-all grin. He reached behind one of the cabinets and retrieved a long tube of paper, placed it on a table and unrolled it. It was an electrical blueprint,
a complex diagram that was practically meaningless to Stratton. ‘I took this off one of the engineers about a year ago. I know every damn circuit on here.’
‘You can control the prison’s circuitry from here?’
‘No. Can’t do that. But I can sure as hell screw it up. I can trip circuit-breakers all over that damned barge. The barge isn’t manned twenty-four seven. Even if there was an engineer on board it’d take him a while to figure it out.And no engineer would reconnect a circuit before they knew why it broke in the first place.’
‘You can cut the power to the prison?’
‘Some of it.’
‘But there’s an auxiliary power system.’
‘Sure. But it only runs essentials. In this place that’s mostly life support. Security always comes second to safety. I’d say you’d have as much as eight hours before the system was back on line.That long enough for you?’
‘Internal doors?’
‘Level access will become emergency access, not security. They’ll all go green.’
‘The ferry dock?’
‘Uh-uh. External access is safety so they’ll stay secure. I don’t know about cell doors and internal security such as that one,’ Hamlin said, indicating the door to the scrubber room. ‘That’s why we have to open it manually before we blow the fuses, otherwise we’d have no power to do it after. You see what I’m tellin’ you?’
Stratton did. His mind raced at the possibilities. He could get back up to the other levels. But he still wouldn’t be able to get to Durrani unless he knew precisely where the Afghan was. His only chance was to get to Gann first. If he could then he might be able to resume his original plan, having neutralised the main threat to his life. It looked like that plan still amounted to nothing more than lying in wait. But if the entire facility was in turmoil there was a good chance Gann would turn up and an equally good chance Stratton could find a dark, unobserved place from which to jump out at him. The overall plan was sketchy at best but it opened up possibilities. Suddenly he reckoned that once he was through the door he didn’t need Hamlin after all. That was a relief in itself. ‘OK,’ he said.
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