David Baldacci - Divine Justice

"Mr. Trimble?" Annabelle did not like that look at all.

He seemed to refocus on her, but his eyes showed his mind was still elsewhere. "Excuse me, I have something I need to check right now." He hurried off.

Annabelle raced down the street to the van and climbed in. She quickly filled them both in on what Tyree had told her and her run-in with the reporter.

"You think he suspects who Oliver really is?" asked Caleb.

"I wouldn't bet against it. And right now our margin of error is zero."

"Damn, Oliver can't buy a break, can he?" exclaimed Reuben. "The one town he picks turns out to be teeming with killers."

"Let's hit the rooming house fast. The clock is running."

A few minutes later Annabelle had charmed the entire story out of Bernie Sandusky.

She got back in the van. "Knox was here. He found out about Oliver. Bernie told him that Oliver was in the hospital or else he could try Abby Riker's place, A Midsummer's Farm. If Knox went to the hospital and found Oliver gone he might have tried Midsummer. Let's roll."

STONE AND KNOX SAT, manacled to metal chairs that were bolted to the slab floor, in a windowless cement block room painted gray. They'd been here for many hours now and the room was so cold that they were both shivering. They jumped when the door banged open and the group moved in. There were five of them, all in blue uniforms and all armed with pistols and billy clubs dangling from thick belts. They formed a semicircle of flesh behind the pair of prisoners, arms folded across their muscular chests.

So fixated were Stone and Knox on this little army that they didn't hear the other man come in until he closed the door.

When Stone turned to look at this new arrival, he flinched.

It was Tyree. Only it wasn't Tyree. Not Lincoln Tyree anyway. It was a shorter, stouter version of the man.

In an instant Stone made the connection-Howard Tyree, the older brother who was also warden of this place. He wore a navy blue polo shirt, pressed khaki pants and tasseled loafers; wire-rimmed glasses covered his clean-shaven face. He didn't look like a rottweiler warden at a supermax. He looked like an insurance salesman on a golf holiday.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Tyree.

Stone's heart sank with the words. It was the voice he'd heard when he'd made the call on Danny's phone. He and the sheriff sounded nearly identical.

Son of a bitch!

The other men had instantly come to attention when Tyree walked in. He sat down behind a small table opposite Stone and Knox. The warden held 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."