Sean Black - Lockdown

‘OK,’ Ty said, ‘so we’ve looked. Now let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘What’s that over there?’

‘I don’t know, man. This is as far as I’ve been.’

‘Then what does it look like?’

Ty scanned the same fence as Lock had, picked out the same razor wire, noted the way it curved back in on itself. The curve of the top of a fence could tell you a lot. Most crucially, was it there to keep someone out or keep someone in?

‘Looks like a brig,’ Ty said.

‘So what’s a scale model of Guantanamo Bay doing in the middle of a research complex?’

Ty looked skywards. ‘How should I know?’

‘You go back. I’m going to take more of a look around.’

‘OK, I’ll meet you out front,’ said Ty reluctantly.

Lock tossed him his keys and watched him disappear into the gloom. Then, putting down the black knapsack, he took out a pair of wire cutters and set to work in an area where the surveillance camera was directed across a broad sweep of open ground beyond the fence.

In less than two minutes there were two slits in the fence, far enough apart that he could slip through. Safely on the other side, he rolled the fence back down so that, at least from a distance, it looked intact. Then he quickly paced out the distance from the nearest metal fence pole to his ready-made escape hatch.

As Lock put the wire cutters back in his knapsack, he felt the barrel of an M-16 press into the small of his back.

‘You know, Lock, if you wanted the grand tour, you only had to ask.’

Lock lay face down on the ground while they searched him, taking his wallet, cell phone and Gerber. His 226, thankfully, was back in his car.

Brand scrolled down the names on Lock’s cell. He stopped at Ty, held up the display so Lock could see it. ‘He’s still outside waiting for you. Better tell him you’ll find your own way back, that you didn’t find what you were looking for and that you’re going out of town for a while.’

‘And why would I want to do that?’

‘I thought he was your buddy. You wouldn’t want to drag him into this any further than you already have, would you?’

Brand hit the green call button and handed the cell back to Lock. He then took an M-16 from one of the two men with him, tucked the stock into his shoulder and pressed the business end into the centre of Lock’s forehead.

‘Ty? Yeah, listen, no need to hang around. . No, I found a different exit. Listen, I have a few things to do. I’ll catch up with you in a few days.’ He paused. ‘No, man, I’m fine.’

He ended the call and Brand snatched the cell back from him, powered it down and jammed it into his pocket.

‘Now, you want that tour or not?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Nope. It’s like the old Chink curse. Be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it.’

They reached what Lock guessed was the main entrance to what Ty thought had looked like a brig. There was no handle or external lock. It simply clicked open.

‘No expense spared, huh?’ he asked Brand.

‘Not when you see what we have inside.’

‘Oh, I’m as giddy as a kid at Christmas,’ Lock shot back.

Inside there was a hallway. It was about six feet wide, and extended about thirty feet, ending in a door of a similar type to the one they’d just come through. The walls were bare whitewashed concrete.

‘This where you kept the kid?’ Lock asked Brand.

‘Just keep walking.’

They reached the next door and stopped. Brand pushed past Lock and went ahead. ‘I’m going to prepare your room.’

The door clicked open and Brand walked through it, leaving Lock with the two guards. On the other side, Brand called for another two-man team to join him at the door into one of the cells. They were instructed to bring his riot gear down with them.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Finally, Lock could hear heavy boots and a door being opened followed by the sound of a brief but violent struggle. Then the door facing him opened again and Brand stepped through, removing his helmet. He had deep scratch marks running down one side of his face, but he was smiling. ‘Wanna meet your new roomie?’

Lock was led through. They stopped outside Mareta’s cell. There was a smear of blood on the wall next to the door. Lock counted off six doors on each side. Banging noises and shouts were coming from behind all but one of them. The one they were standing in front of.

Brand produced Lock’s cell phone again. Flipped it open. ‘Anyone you want to say goodbye to?’

Lock stood where he was and said nothing.

Brand started to scroll down through the numbers. ‘Here’s one. How about Carrie?’ Then he stopped and slapped his head with the palm of his hand in a mock show of embarrassment. ‘Silly me. Should have told you earlier. There wouldn’t be any point calling her.’ Brand held the phone up so Lock could see him deleting her number. ‘Hit-and-run accident. Driver didn’t even stop. Some asshole in a Hummer.’

Lock lunged at him. The open palm of his right hand came up at an angle into Brand’s chin, snapping his neck back and sending him stumbling backwards. The shouting from the other cells intensified.

A baton smacked into the back of Lock’s knees, and his legs folded underneath him. Black shapes swam in front of him as he took a second blow to the back of the head. Then he heard the door being opened and he was hauled to his feet and thrown inside.

He landed a couple of feet clear of the door, and heard it slam shut. Then came the sound of something metal skittering across the floor. He blinked a few times to try to clear his vision.

His Gerber lay on the floor of the cell, the blade extended. A woman’s hand reached down and picked it up. He lifted his head. She stood over him. The fingers of her right hand formed a tight fist around the handle in a hammer grip.

Lock stared into her eyes and braced himself for the blow.

Carrie slept late. Her late unscheduled appearance the previous evening meant she wasn’t due in to work until lunch. Usually she jumped straight into the shower but this morning she could smell Lock on her skin and she didn’t want to lose that. In the kitchen, she made breakfast for herself and Angel. They both cleared their plates in record time.

She wandered through into the living room and flicked on the TV. A few of the other networks had picked up the Meditech story. They were following in her wake, and had been since Gray Stokes’ assassination. The next month would be a good time to ask for a move into the studio. She liked the buzz of chasing stories, but she also knew that people doing her job were likened to sharks for a reason: you kept moving forward or you died.

On the kitchen counter her PDA blinked red. She picked it up and scrolled through the emails. There was a fresh one from Gail Reindl giving her the overnights. Gail wanted to congratulate her in person when she got into the office. That anchor job was getting closer.

Angel had taken up position at the door and was barking. Carrie went back into the bedroom, threw on some sweats and tied her hair back in a ponytail. She grabbed Angel’s leash from the closet next to the door, along with a jacket, and headed downstairs. In the lobby, the doorman greeted them both.

Outside it was still cold, but the sky was bright blue and the sun was shining. The weather reflected Carrie’s mood. She half walked, half jogged to the end of the block. Angel trotted alongside her, occasionally outpacing her and straining on the leash, desperate to get to the park.

Carrie gave the leash a sharp tug as they reached the crosswalk. ‘Hey, easy there.’

The dog stopped and looked up at her. The sign flashed WALK.