The Killing Floor Blues (Daniel Faust #5)(65)

“Hive B. They’re running death matches for rich sickos to gamble on. Warden Lancaster and the guards are all in on it. That’s why nobody ever comes back from Hive B. They’re not on lockdown, Brisco. They’re dead.”

Under two days of stubble, Brisco’s cheeks turned pale.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re serious.”

“It gets worse. I’ve seen their ‘shopping list,’ the roster of who they’re gonna grab next.” I looked him dead in the eye. “You’re on it. Two weeks from tonight, they’ll be coming for you.”

He bought it. Brisco put his palms against a grimy sink and leaned in, taking a deep breath.

“We’ve gotta—we’ve gotta do something.”

“And we will,” I told him. “I’ve got a plan to blow this whole place wide open, but I need your help. Your influence.”

“Name it, man. Anything you need. Anything.”

“First,” I said, holding out the tiny camera. “Hold onto this, and guard it with your life. It’s evidence. I’m going to be captured in…about five minutes, I’m guessing, and I can’t risk them finding it on me. I’ll come get it from you later.”

He took the camera, holding it like a stick of nitroglycerin.

“If you’re gonna be captured, how can you—”

I held up my hand. “Second. I need some things smuggled to me in my cell. Use the food service: have your guys in the cafeteria claim I need a special diet for medical reasons. Dr. Valentino’s on our side; if anyone asks, he’ll back the story up.”

I gave him the list of what I needed. Brisco squinted at me.

“How is that gonna help?”

“Didn’t you ever watch MacGyver? That guy could make bombs out of paper clips and chewing gum.”

“Yeah, but…you aren’t MacGyver.”

I shook my head. “Oh ye of little faith. Just make sure I get everything on that list, and fast. Otherwise I’m a dead man—and you’re next.”

Outside the bathroom door, a klaxon wound up, screaming like a tornado siren.

“This is a security lockdown,” boomed a voice over a loudspeaker. “Return to your cells immediately for counting and inspection. This is a security lockdown.”

“You better go,” I said. “I think that’s my cue.”

As prisoners scattered, rushing back to their cells, I took a leisurely stroll down to the gallery floor.

Just ahead, five black-masked riot guards moved in, closing in a semicircle. Tasers and batons at the ready, and one brandishing a Plexiglas shield.

I smiled and showed them my open hands.

“I believe you gentlemen are looking for me,” I said, lacing my fingers behind my neck and sinking to my knees.

As rough, gloved hands wrenched my wrists back, cold shackles locking tight, I felt a moment of strange satisfaction. Sure, the odds were long. My first escape attempt had been a disaster and this one was likely to land me in an unmarked grave, but the situation wasn’t all bad. At least I was able to cross one thing off my bucket list.

You know all those movies where the bad guy gets captured, but it turns out that was the key to his master plan all along?

Not gonna lie. I’d always wanted to do that.





35.




“Where is he?” Lancaster asked. He sat behind his desk, imperious, the office door closed and locked. I couldn’t have jumped him if I wanted to, not with both wrists handcuffed to my chair. And not with Jablonski pacing the carpet behind me, openly carrying his pistol in a too-tight grip.

“Who?”

“O’Neill,” Jablonski snapped.

“I’ll repeat my question. Who?”

“The guard,” Lancaster said, “who was supposed to escort you to the infirmary. An appointment you never arrived for. The guard who vanished.”

“Oh,” I said. “You mean the guard who said he’d smuggle me out of here, then weaseled out on the deal.”

Jablonski was on me like a shot, pressing the barrel of his gun to my temple.

“You lyin’ sack! O’Neill is a buddy of mine. He’d never do that!”

I inhaled through gritted teeth, fighting to keep my cool. The muzzle of the gun felt like ice against my skin, trembling in his grip.

“Check the visitor logs,” I said. “My lawyer came to see me a few days ago. Brought me some paperwork.”

“What of it?” Lancaster frowned.

“That was just a cover. He smuggled in cash for me. Twenty grand in large bills, unmarked and nonsequential. Clean as fresh linen sheets.”

The muzzle pressed harder, my head tilted so far to the side that my neck ached. I could feel Jablonski’s finger tightening on the trigger.

“You’re full of shit. You got strip-searched before you landed in Ad Seg. No way you were hiding twenty grand on you.”

“Because it wasn’t on me,” I said. “It was hidden in Hive C, in the third-tier bathrooms. You know, where the surveillance camera has been busted for weeks.”

Lancaster looked to Jablonski. “Is that true?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I…I mean…”

“Is. That. True? Is there another broken camera on the grid that you haven’t bothered reporting?”