purposes.”
“I’m sure it’s just like Club Med,” Deuce said.
McElroy frowned at him. “May I go on?”
Deuce didn’t object.
“Slavne Prison is designed to hold just under fifteen hundred inmates, all housed in one of these three buildings.” With a laser pointer, he circled the three identical buildings within the big wall. “The amount of prisoners changes daily depending on trials. Sometimes they’re actually overcrowded, but currently they’re running at about eighty-seven percent of capacity.” He moved the light to the perpendicular building below them. “This is the administration building. It’s also where the infirmary is. Here and here”—the light touched on two points along the edge of the admin building—“are the only two intended ways in and out of the facility.”
“Are there any unintended?” Alex asked.
Ignoring the comment, McElroy touched on the two buildings outside the wall. “These are housing facilities for guards and other staff.” He moved the pointer to the building with its own wall on the other side of the prison. “And this is isolation, where they keep problem prisoners.”
“And where, exactly, is El-Hashim?”
He pointed at the middle of the three parallel buildings. “Here, on the second floor.” He glanced at his assistant. “Barbara? Schematics.”
The map shrank down until it was the size of one of the smaller rectangles, then moved to an empty slot along the bottom. Replacing it in the larger screen was an architectural drawing of one of the prison buildings.
“Push in on the cell,” McElroy ordered.
The whole image swung to the side, revealing it as a three-dimensional file, then traveled through the outside wall into the main corridor that ran through the center of the second floor. There, it pivoted, showing one of the doors.
“The cells have a three-digit numbering system. The first number indicates building, the final two the actual cell. This is cell number 259. El-Hashim seldom leaves it.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Deuce asked.
“We have someone on the inside. An informant.”
“And does this informant keep a constant eye on—”
“Can we get to the meat here?” Alex said, cutting Deuce off. “The bottom line is that I’m supposed to go in, right?”
“Yes.”
“As what? A visitor?”
“Prisoner.”
Alex had known what he was going to say, but hearing it didn’t make it sound any less crazy.
“See?” Deuce said. “I told you.”
But Alex’s attention was still on McElroy. “Okay, so that’s how I get in. Now how do I get out?”
“Our informer.”
“Who is?”
“Code name Traz,” McElroy said. “Someone very well placed.”
“So why doesn’t he or she deal with El-Hashim?”
McElroy shook his head. “We’re not talking about an operative, and it isn’t someone who has El-Hashim’s ear. The contact is extremely concerned about being found out by prison officials.”
“Then why cooperate at all?”
“We have something Traz wants.”
“Which is?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” McElroy said. “All that matters is that this contact is our eyes and ears. And once you’re inside and you’ve convinced El-Hashim to leave, Traz will facilitate the escape.”
“Why all the mystery?” Deuce asked. “Who is this person?”
McElroy shook his head. “One of the conditions Traz insisted on was that his or her identity remain a secret in case something goes wrong before Alex gets to the facility. Once she’s inside, Traz will reach out.”
“So, in other words,” Deuce said, “Alex goes in completely blind.” He looked at Alex. “You get that, right?”
“I get it. But if I were in this Traz’s position, I’d ask for exactly the same guarantee. You would, too.”
She sensed Deuce’s resistance, but he kept his mouth shut. What could he say? He knew she was right.
A small smile of satisfaction creased McElroy’s face, but Alex moved quickly to kill it.
“I’m sure it’s just like Club Med,” Deuce said.
McElroy frowned at him. “May I go on?”
Deuce didn’t object.
“Slavne Prison is designed to hold just under fifteen hundred inmates, all housed in one of these three buildings.” With a laser pointer, he circled the three identical buildings within the big wall. “The amount of prisoners changes daily depending on trials. Sometimes they’re actually overcrowded, but currently they’re running at about eighty-seven percent of capacity.” He moved the light to the perpendicular building below them. “This is the administration building. It’s also where the infirmary is. Here and here”—the light touched on two points along the edge of the admin building—“are the only two intended ways in and out of the facility.”
“Are there any unintended?” Alex asked.
Ignoring the comment, McElroy touched on the two buildings outside the wall. “These are housing facilities for guards and other staff.” He moved the pointer to the building with its own wall on the other side of the prison. “And this is isolation, where they keep problem prisoners.”
“And where, exactly, is El-Hashim?”
He pointed at the middle of the three parallel buildings. “Here, on the second floor.” He glanced at his assistant. “Barbara? Schematics.”
The map shrank down until it was the size of one of the smaller rectangles, then moved to an empty slot along the bottom. Replacing it in the larger screen was an architectural drawing of one of the prison buildings.
“Push in on the cell,” McElroy ordered.
The whole image swung to the side, revealing it as a three-dimensional file, then traveled through the outside wall into the main corridor that ran through the center of the second floor. There, it pivoted, showing one of the doors.
“The cells have a three-digit numbering system. The first number indicates building, the final two the actual cell. This is cell number 259. El-Hashim seldom leaves it.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Deuce asked.
“We have someone on the inside. An informant.”
“And does this informant keep a constant eye on—”
“Can we get to the meat here?” Alex said, cutting Deuce off. “The bottom line is that I’m supposed to go in, right?”
“Yes.”
“As what? A visitor?”
“Prisoner.”
Alex had known what he was going to say, but hearing it didn’t make it sound any less crazy.
“See?” Deuce said. “I told you.”
But Alex’s attention was still on McElroy. “Okay, so that’s how I get in. Now how do I get out?”
“Our informer.”
“Who is?”
“Code name Traz,” McElroy said. “Someone very well placed.”
“So why doesn’t he or she deal with El-Hashim?”
McElroy shook his head. “We’re not talking about an operative, and it isn’t someone who has El-Hashim’s ear. The contact is extremely concerned about being found out by prison officials.”
“Then why cooperate at all?”
“We have something Traz wants.”
“Which is?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” McElroy said. “All that matters is that this contact is our eyes and ears. And once you’re inside and you’ve convinced El-Hashim to leave, Traz will facilitate the escape.”
“Why all the mystery?” Deuce asked. “Who is this person?”
McElroy shook his head. “One of the conditions Traz insisted on was that his or her identity remain a secret in case something goes wrong before Alex gets to the facility. Once she’s inside, Traz will reach out.”
“So, in other words,” Deuce said, “Alex goes in completely blind.” He looked at Alex. “You get that, right?”
“I get it. But if I were in this Traz’s position, I’d ask for exactly the same guarantee. You would, too.”
She sensed Deuce’s resistance, but he kept his mouth shut. What could he say? He knew she was right.
A small smile of satisfaction creased McElroy’s face, but Alex moved quickly to kill it.
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