T H E guards patrolled the top of the Tower, circling endlessly with their guns and cigarettes. Tom Hackett was Maingate's senior guard; he'd been selected because of his CIA training, and his experience in transporting and subduing prisoners. There are two types of enforcers-those who catch people, and those who keep and control them. Hackett was definitely one of the latter. When the Tower had first gone up, there were few who didn't suspect he would be called in to run security.

Toughness was written in every line on Hackett's face. The ruddy, tan skin of his cheeks drooped into jowls. Along with his pug nose, they gave him the appearance of a kind, but disgruntled bulldog.

The two guards talked as they circled, sometimes shouting above the roar of the waves, and bits and pieces of their conversation wafted down to the inmates.

Justin Greener pulled out a cigarette. "Got a light?" he asked.

"Of course," Hackett said, reaching for the toolbox. He removed a small cup of yogurt and placed it on the deck, then dug through a pile of tools to find the matches.

"You eat that s.h.i.t?" Greener asked, pointing to the yogurt and trying not to smile.

Hackett stood up, straightening his green slicker indignantly. "Wait till you get a few more years on you and your doctor starts riding you like a bronco, we'll see what you're eating." He lit a match off his thumbnail and held it out unceremoniously.

Greener surveyed the darkening clouds as he cupped his hands around the small flame. "Looks like rain," he said, the cigarette jiggling slightly with his words.

"I told you. Better grab your jacket."

Greener crossed over to the small guard station and took a tightly rolled slicker from the wall. The jacket was packed into itself and tied with a cord; he flipped it once in the air casually and caught it.

"That new kid's a sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he said as he walked back to Hackett, the end of his cigarette glowing in the dusk.

"They all are," Hackett replied.

"No, I mean he's really psycho. He's calm as s.h.i.t, all the time. I guess over at Maingate all he did was read all day and draw pictures."

"And kill five people in his two-year vacation over there. That's why we get him."

"What'd he kill, the shrink and some nurses?" Greener tapped the roll of the slicker against his thigh as he leaned back against the railing.

"No. Try his lawyer, two inmates, and two guards."

"This is the p.r.i.c.k who killed both those guards?"

"Yeah. It's not officially released yet, so it's still a rumor as far as you know."

"What happened?"

"He had a meeting with his lawyer and took him hostage. Held the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d's Mont Blanc pen to his carotid artery. I guess he broke the light in the room and hid with his hostage behind the door. When the first guard came in-"

"Gun first?"

"Of course."

Greener shook his head as Hackett continued, "He kicked the door closed on his arm and the stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d dropped the gun. He shot him and his first backup before anyone else got there." Hackett looked down, studying his shoe.

When he looked up, Greener was surprised by the sudden intensity in his eyes. "You remember, Greener." Hackett stabbed his finger in the middle of Greener's chest. "A veteran never relinquishes his weapon." They stood silently for a moment.

"And the lawyer?" Greener asked.

"You know what always happens to the lawyer."

Both men laughed, their breath showing in the cool, misty air.

"The kid punctured his neck and was drawing pictures on the ground with his blood by the time anyone else showed up. When I got there, he was peaceful and as cooperative as a baby. Came with us, no problem."

"When did he off the prisoners?"

"Almost two years apart. He killed the first when he got there. In the shower. Gave him a forehead to the nose and put it through his brain. Put in seclusion for a week, and he was good when he came out. It really scared him, seclusion."

"The other?"

"About a month ago, he put a spoon through someone's eye in the cafeteria."

"Why a spoon?"

"Cuz what do you think, they give 'em knives to cut their prime rib with?"

"How 'bout a fork?"

"No forks either."

"How do you kill somebody with a f.u.c.king spoon?"

"You hold the spoon end like this"-Hackett prepared his imaginary spoon-"bending it so it sits flush against your palm, with the long end sticking out between your second and middle finger. Then you jab your fist at an angle. Hit the eye. Up and in."

Greener whistled. "I don't even know how they think of this s.h.i.t."

"That's why you're out here, Greener, and they're in there."

Hackett turned and started another lap around the tight perimeter. As he pa.s.sed Greener, he faked a jab at him. Greener, who had been flipping the slicker, flinched to the side. He shot out his hand to grab the jacket and knocked it over the side of the Tower. "s.h.i.t," he said as he watched it drift away, a green spot on the dark water.

Hackett laughed. "If you're that scared of an imaginary spoon . . ." He chuckled again as Greener started to smile.

"He must be a smart b.i.t.c.h to think that one up," Greener said.

Hackett pressed his lips together as he looked out over the rolling waves. "He's a f.u.c.kin' genius, that kid. Shouldn't have let him read so much s.h.i.t at Maingate. They tested him at the ward. Twice. Thought they f.u.c.ked up the first time. A genius." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Which makes him all the more G.o.dd.a.m.n dangerous."

They stood silently for a while, finishing their cigarettes as the sun dipped to the hazy horizon. A few seagulls flew overhead, then wrangled over some dead crabs that had washed ash.o.r.e.

A burst of thunder swept across the gray sky.

"We'd better get dinner ready now in case we have to close the Hatch on account of rain," Hackett said.

"What's on the menu this morning, boss?"

"Yogurt," they both said together, and Hackett reluctantly joined in Greener's laughter.

Greener went into the small shed on the roof of the Tower and pulled out the tray with loaves on it, grabbing the p.r.o.nged metal arm. The arm enabled the guards to deliver the loaves from the elevator, sliding them through the food hole at the base of the door. Maximum distance, maximum safety. It also had a plastic loop that the guard put around his wrist so a prisoner couldn't yank it away.

Greener checked the monitor that displayed the prisoners' location sensors. Eighteen blinking lights lined up in two rows. One red flashing light after another.

When he walked out of the shed, Hackett pa.s.sed him the keys. "Why don't you grab another jacket out of storage," he said. "Last thing I need is you getting even more wet behind the ears." He grinned affectionately as Greener took the keys and hooked them through his belt. "And grab a couple of extras while you're down there."

"All right, hotshot," Greener said, leaning over to pick up the tray

7.

H E A D I N G onto the elevator, Greener launched into what had become his customary routine: "Okay, kids, wake up! The menu today consists of, surprisingly, a f.u.c.king loaf. We were flying in a new recipe straight from Paris-that's in France, Cyprus-where they've been doing experimentation with escargot souffles. Unfortunately, the plane crashed, so you get to eat this s.h.i.t again."

"f.u.c.k you, Greener-"

"Greener, you a.s.shole-"

He smiled. "The choirboys speak."

He placed a loaf down on Level Eleven and, extending the arm, slid it under the door of Unit 11A. Claude Rivers did not stir.

"Here you go, Van Winkle. Try not to choke on it." He held the elevator control with its big red b.u.t.tons in his left hand. It was a remote unit that could fit into a front pocket. "All right, here we go. More four-star dining. Looks like we'll be skipping Jonsten today." He shook his head at Spade as the elevator platform settled at Level Ten. "Spade, you sicko. Don't we feed you enough?"

"Yeah, f.u.c.k you."

"Well, it's good to see your vocabulary's expanding in here. I'll put in a good word to your parole officer-oh wait. That's right. You don't have a parole officer."

Spade sneered, his curled lip rising until its wrinkles met those from his squinting eye. Greener looked over at Allander, who was lying facedown on the floor with the blue blanket draped over his waist. "Hey, Atlasia, you want breakfast?"

No response.

"Hey, junior, you want some food? Come on, I'll even let you eat with a sharpened spoon." No response. Greener knew that the prisoners sometimes lay like that to look at the man below-intimidating, hateful stares that lasted all day. It wasn't like Allander, he thought, but it wasn't that unusual either. "All right," he said. "Lie there and I'll get you on the way up."

He pushed the big red b.u.t.ton on the remote and the elevator's gears clicked, lowering him another level. "Hey there, Cyprus, ya big inbreed you. Sorry I couldn't bring you a distant cousin to enjoy, but how about a nice deep-fried fun loaf?"

"I could have you killed the minute you step foot off this Tower, Greener."

"Well, Billy Ray-"

"I told you, don't you f.u.c.kin' call me that."

"All right, Sir Cyprus. I'm sure you could have me killed, but unfortunately . . ." Greener surveyed the bleak steel walls around him. "Unfortunately, I don't see a pay phone around here anywhere. Or a quarter."

Cyprus scowled and ran his palm over his chin. "And you're not due for a parole hearing . . . ," Greener said, checking his watch carefully, "for about two hundred and eighteen years."

"Two hundred seventeen, six months, and four days or else when the good Lord Jesus comes to free the Master Race. And he won't be taking you along."

"Now that hurts. I'm sorry to say it, Cyprus, but you're off my Christmas-card list." Greener checked his sheet. "Love to shoot the s.h.i.t with you all day, farm boy, but I gots some grits to deliver." Smiling, he rode the elevator out of view.

He grimaced at the thick odor surrounding Level Three. Mills was down on his haunches in the corner, his hands resting on the ground. Greener said nothing as he slid the loaf through the opening. He didn't watch as Mills scurried over to it, but he could hear him start to eat.

When he finally reached Level Two, Tommy was ready with a complaint.

"Greener, you gotta listen to me. This food's f.u.c.kin' killing me. It's hurting me, it really is. Cruel and unusual, eh? It's bad for a man's soul to eat like this. To eat this. Bring me one good meal. One plate of fusilli, sausage and tomato sauce with oregano and basil. I'll make you a rich man. You know I can. One plate, Greener, one plate."

"I'm sorry, Tommy. Can't do it. But I did specially prepare this loaf for you. Unfortunately, I cut off the tips of my fingers making it, but you'll enjoy those, I'm sure. It'll remind you of old times."

"You mameluke." Tommy wrung his hands as he paced his cell. "It used to be you could bribe a guard. What happened, the Democrats back in office?"

"Sorry, not allowed to tell you. Remember, the 'no access to outside information' rule?" Greener glanced over at Safran, who was staring through the bars. Dried blood from a recent nosebleed had crusted around his lips and down his lower cheek. "Well h.e.l.lo, my little beacon of sunshine. A pleasure as always. Today's specials are-"

"Food. The food. Give me to it."

"Well, a little p.r.o.noun confusion going on, but I think you've earned your loaf anyway for your charming display of social skills. Come on, guys, let's give him a hand."

"Can you believe him, this guy here?" Tommy shook his head and gestured painfully at Safran as Greener clicked the b.u.t.ton to lower the platform. "All the criminals in the world, I get stuck next to f.u.c.ko over here."

The platform stopped on the first level and Greener unlocked Unit 1A, the main storage area. He grabbed a couple of slickers before swinging the door shut and relocking it.

"Jesus Christ!" Greener yelled as the elevator rose. "For a bunch of f.u.c.kin' criminals, you'd think one of you'd have a G.o.dd.a.m.n sense of humor." He snickered to himself. "Mr. Greener, you've just won the chance to be a prison guard. Where are you going to go? Well, Bob, I think I'll waste my life away in the Tower! That's right, ceaseless fun for the whole family."

As he came up on Level Ten, he noticed the last loaf by his foot. "Oh yeah, Atlasia. You want this? Last call. Come on, I'm gonna eat it myself."

Allander still lay facedown by his unit door, not moving. Greener called up the Hole, "Hey, Hackett! Hackett!"

There was no answer from above, just the rising wind sucking across the top of the Hole. He decided Hackett was probably leaning over the parapet, watching the waves crash against the stone.

He reached the metal arm through the food slot and prodded Allander before jerking it back out. No movement. He looked for an indication of breathing in the rise and fall of Allander's back, but there was nothing. He prodded him again. Finally, he relaxed, letting the arm come to a rest on Allander's back. He turned and shouted up the Hole, "Hey, Hackett, I think we got a dead one!"

The minute Greener's eyes left him, Allander seized the end of the metal arm. By the time Greener turned back, Allander was poised like an alligator. He faced Greener, glowering in the darkness.

"What the fu-"

Allander yanked the end of the metal arm with incredible force, pulling Greener by the strap around his wrist. Greener stumbled forward, losing his balance. As he fell, the elevator control slipped from his left hand and slid across the platform through the food slot under Allander's door. Allander gathered it with his hands like a hockey goalie embracing a puck.

Greener struck his chin on the steel bars of the platform floor. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision. The prisoners in the cages around him, sensing that something extraordinary was happening, began to scream with excitement, thrashing against their doors. The tightly wrapped rain slickers rolled around the platform, bouncing off the unit bars.

Allander clicked the big red b.u.t.ton and the elevator started up. Greener hung doubled over the edge of the elevator as it left the Level Ten platform. He dug his hands at the elevator where it met his crotch, hoisting his body up briefly to orient himself. The last thing he saw was the rush of Level Eleven coming down behind his head. The powerful elevator rose quickly under his stomach as the eleventh level caught his lower back and severed him at the midsection. The air left him in a wet grunt.

The upper part of Greener's corpse fell to the Level Ten platform with a dull thud, landing in front of Unit 10A. Allander still lay on his stomach, a look of subtle amus.e.m.e.nt on his face. The twitching torso was splayed grotesquely behind its crooked neck, both of its arms outstretched worshipfully to Allander.

"I know, my little friend, I know," Allander purred as he managed to free the metal arm and pull it inside his cage.

Glancing up, he noticed Greener's keys dangling over the edge of the elevator, still attached to his pants. They swayed back and forth from what had formerly been Greener's crotch and legs, which remained somewhere around Level Eleven. Allander clicked the bottom red b.u.t.ton and giggled obscenely.