Primary Valor, Jack Mars [black female authors .txt] 📗

Honduran military was proud to play a role in his apprehension. Hewent on to say that all foreign nationals would now be subject to increasedscrutiny, to determine if any other illegal activities were being carried outin Honduran territory. More as this case unfolds.”

The woman stared directly into theTV screen. Eddie had seen that look before, about a million times. She wasscanning the teleprompter, preparing herself for where the next story wasgoing.

“In other news, United StatesHouse of Representatives Minority Leader William Ryan was released from thehospital this morning after being admitted overnight for observation. Ryan wasthe victim of a violent mugging attempt last night near the Lincoln Memorial. Gunrights activists are holding Ryan up as an example of the benefits of carryinga concealed weapon for self-defense. Some have begun to refer to him as ‘Billythe Kid.’ Ryan fired warning shots at his attackers, which led them to flee thescene. Gun control proponents are calling for an investigation into whetherRyan has ever carried a gun into House chambers. Upon leaving the hospital,Ryan joked to reporters that he would be back at work in a couple of days, andready to settle some scores.”

Eddie Alvarez smiled at that. Hecarried a gun, on nights when he worked the late shift. He gazed out the windowfor a moment, at the early afternoon. There were a few old scores he wouldn’tmind settling himself.

Of course, a big-time politicianwould have an easier time doing that than he would. Those people could get awaywith murder.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

 

April 7, 2006

2:10 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time

United States Federal Detention Center

Atlanta, Georgia

 

 

“Guard!” Darwin King shouted. “Guard!”

It was late at night, and he wasalone as always. They had put him in the most dismal dungeon, in the worst,oldest, most dysfunctional part of an aging decrepit prison left over from the nineteenthcentury.

He had to get out of here. It wascold. Moisture formed on the walls from condensation. Sometimes late at night,like now, the condensation formed a thin sheen of ice. There was a problem withhis toilet. Water leaked from under it, making a tiny river across the stonefloor.

He looked at it now. The metaltoilet. It had a water faucet at the top of it, an odd combination. Everythingelse was made of stone, and in a fixed location. A narrow stone desk extendedfrom the cinderblock wall, with a rounded stone stool like a small peg comingout of the floor in front of it.

Like the desk, the bed was narrowand made of stone. A thin mattress covered it and there was one green blanketmade of wool serge, or some equally itchy material. There was a narrow windowin the far wall, framed in green, perhaps two feet tall and six inches wide. Itwas always dark outside that window, except for a sickly yellow light thatstreamed into the cell from a nearby sodium arc lamp mounted on the outsidewall. There was no way to cover the window.

They had put him here to punishhim, to drive him insane. And it was working. There was no way a man accustomedto the finer things in life, not just to comfort but to opulence and splendor,should be forced to endure this.

“Guard!” he screamed.

Worst of all, he was the only onehere. As far as he could tell, there were no other prisoners on this hall, andpossibly none on this floor of the building. He might be the only prisoner inthis entire falling down, disgrace of a wing. This place should be condemned. Ina sense, it already was. Everybody was gone, except for him and the two guardsthat were always on duty.

They were supposed to beresponsive. They were supposed to come when he called. At the very least, theywere supposed to check on him once in a while to see if he was still alive.

He had to get out of here. He hadto go anywhere but here. It was claustrophobic. It was terrifying.

His lawyers had asked for $20million bail. It seemed a reasonable request. Who would run away leaving thatmuch money on the table? Denied. No bail. Darwin King was deemed too much of aflight risk.

Privately, he had offered themeverything he knew, if they would just get him out of here. Just put him in amodern facility where there were some people around. Was that so hard?

He had offered them gold. Who haddone what, where all the bodies were buried. He had been around a long time,and he had amassed a tremendous amount of dirt on a lot of powerful people. Ifhe started to talk…

And that was just it, wasn’t it?

Powerful people didn’t want him totalk, did they?

“GUARD!” he shrieked now.

Where were the damn guards?

* * *

The man was a ghost.

He wore the uniform of the federalprison system. He had a gun he didn’t need. He had a nightstick—not surewhether he would need that. Probably not. He had a flashlight, keys, and codes.He had pepper spray and a Taser. He wore big black shoes that were comfortablefor walking, and that wouldn’t slip on hard surfaces.

The funniest part? The patch onhis left breast said Brown.

It was a name that was not a name,for someone who had long ago disappeared. He wore a flat top haircut. He wasbig and strong, and had sharp features. He kept himself very fit. Like a laserbeam, he liked to think of it. Like a rocket ship.

Once, he had a name. As timepassed, his name had changed. At this point, he’d gone by enough names that hecouldn’t remember them all. This latest was his favorite, and he planned to keepit for a while. Brown. He introduced himself that way, if such niceties werenecessary. Mr. Brown. He liked it. It made him think of dead things. Deadleaves in wintertime, especially. Burned out buildings with the people stillinside.

They had let him right throughsecurity as if he worked here. They had waved as if they knew him. The realguards were gone. They had taken a powder. The man had no idea where they hadgone, or what they knew. He had no idea what their cover story was going to be.It didn’t matter. For now, they weren’t