Ted Dekker - Sanctuary

“Nope.”

Behind me, Keith cleared his throat. This wasn’t the plan, I knew that, but it was now.

“What about a million dollars?” I pressed. “Does that ring a bell?”

“Sure, I’ll take a million dollars. You gonna get me out of here so I can spend it?”

Not even a hint that he knew about Sicko’s game. But he was connected, and I had to know how.

“So you’re saying you don’t know a thing about any threats to anyone involving body parts or missing drug money.”

“I honestly don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, lady.”

“And what about a priest? Know any priests?”

His eyes flinched and I knew two things. One, Randell really didn’t know anything about Constance or drug money. That had to be Sicko’s doing, which confirmed our assumption that Randell wasn’t Sicko.

Two, Randell not only did know Danny, but there was history between them.

“Danny Hansen,” I pushed. “You know, the priest who was transferred to Basal ten days ago. What can you tell us about Danny?”

“Nothing.”

He was lying.

“I think what Julia’s trying to ask—”

“Not now, Keith,” I said. “We don’t have time. You see, my partner and I sometimes play good cop, bad cop—him good, me bad—but we’re in a rush, so I’m gonna get straight to the point. This whole prison is about to blow sky-high, Mr. Randell. We’re going to give you about three minutes to decide if you want to go up with it. Fair enough?”

He stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Keith was probably thinking the same thing. I’d mistakenly used his real name.

“Why are you messing with Danny?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously?” I was incredulous. “You’re actually going to drag this out? We know about the threats to Danny’s life. We know what’s going on in Basal—we just need to decide who goes down with the warden.”

“You’re lying,” he said. “This some kind of test?”

“A test by who? The warden? Because I’ll tell you this, I don’t care what the warden’s told you, it’s over. If we don’t find Danny alive and well, it’s all going to lead back to you, and you’re going to end up on a bus to death row.”

For a moment Randell looked like he might capitulate, but then his jaw slowly firmed. Whatever hold the warden had over him, it was strong. My ploy wasn’t going to work.

So I bent over, hiked up my right pant leg, and pulled out the Beretta I’d strapped to my calf.

Keith touched my shoulder. “Renee…”

I stepped forward and shoved the gun below Randell’s belt. He jerked back, grasped the basin with both hands, and stared down at the gun. I knew I couldn’t shoot in here—the gun was only meant to be used for leverage if we needed it—but it was loaded and my finger was already tightening.

“Now you listen to me, you pig. I know you were abused by a priest when you were a boy, but the priest you’re messing with now is going to get you killed. The state knows everything. We’re here because we have reason to believe there’s a direct threat to Danny’s life as we speak. You’re either going to tell me where he is or I’m going to shoot off your toe.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

His face was flushed red. I had his attention.

“Renee…”

“Not now, Keith.” To Randell: “Is Danny alive?”

His eyes were frantic, looking at me, then at Keith over my head.

“Tell me!” I gave the gun a shove.

“I didn’t kill him…I swear he was alive last time I saw him.”

“When? When did you see him alive?”

He wavered, grasping for the meaning of a woman with an OIG badge shoving a gun at him in his prison cell. I didn’t want him to think it through; I wanted him to react without thought.

“You protect the warden and you go down with him. When?”

“Two nights ago.”

“Where?”

“In the hard yard.”

“What did you do to him?”

“He made me. I’m only doing what I have to do to stay alive in this place. They killed Slane right in front of me!”

“Where’s the priest?”

“I don’t know!”

We’d been urgent, not loud, but Randell’s last denial rang through the hall.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “Where would he be?”

“In the hole.”

“Segregation?”

“No. The other hole.”

“Which hole?”

His eyes were filled with fear.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know!”

“How could you not know? You’ve never been there?”

He was breathing hard now. I’d reached a part of his mind he didn’t want reached.

“They blindfold us. It’s below ad seg.”

I blinked. The information quickly settled into my gut. Blindfolds? The warden was a brute who was playing games with his inmates. Randell was a pawn who knew nothing. Constance had been a pawn. Messengers and thugs.

“We have what we need, Renee.” Keith gently pulled me back by my shoulder. We’d both used our real names, but it didn’t matter now.

Keith stepped up to Randell and squeezed his face with a strong hand.

“Now, I’m only going to say this once, so you listen carefully, you hear?”

We had come into Sicko’s house. It had to be the warden. We were already naked here. We had to get to Danny and get out!

“One word of this to anyone, and I’m going to make sure you end up on San Quentin’s death row for the rest of your life. Not a fun place. Keep your mouth shut and we’ll get you out early. And forget about the warden’s threats, he’s finished.”

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t.” Keith released the man’s face and slapped him. “It’s over! You either go up or you go down. End of story.”

“Keith, we have to go!” I said.

He glared at Randell, then turned around, face flushed. “Put that thing away,” he said, flipping his hand at my gun.

Danny was being held somewhere off the prison’s blueprints, in a hole that made a man as strong as Randell cringe. Keith and I knew we had to find Danny now, but only I knew how. I was going to put a gun to Michael Banning’s head and force him to take us to Danny.

I shoved the gun under the strap at my calf, pulled my pant leg down over it, and hurried to catch Keith, who had just cleared the cell’s door and pulled up to wait for me.

So I’d thought, but I was wrong.

The sight that greeted me when I stepped out of Bruce Randell’s cell stopped me beside Keith. Not ten feet away stood a thick man with a blond crew cut flanked by two commanding officers in black.

Both of them had rifles hooked in the crooks of their elbows—a major breach of security protocol in any California prison, I knew. Firearms were only permitted in gun rails, towers, and control booths, out of reach of any prisoner, bar none.

The man with the crew cut looked amused. “I hear you guys need an escort,” he said.

Keith started forward. “That won’t be necessary. We were just finishing up.”

The man held up a hand. “I’m afraid the warden insists.”

I told myself to run. It had all gone wrong. Instead I pulled out my phone.

“No calls. Put the phone down. Now.”

“This isn’t your business.”

“Well now, that’s funny, because the warden told me it was. He instructed me to come find you and escort you. He said go find Renee Gilmore and Keith Hammond and bring them to me. Drop the phone.”

I glanced at Keith, who nodded. I dropped the phone on the concrete.

My heart was pounding. The warden knew our names, which meant he knew everything.

The CO flashed a grin. “Captain Bostich, here to serve. Now if you’d please follow me.”