Chapter XXIII

PRITCHETT REACHED INTO THE BIN and pulled out a pile of sheets with his hook. With a snap of his wrist, he hurled the linens across the room toward another prisoner who shoved them into a washer. He stopped for a moment to mop his brow covered in sweat t due to the steam swirling around the building.

“Keep working,” one of the guards shouted at Pritchett.

He glanced at the guard, who glared back.

“Some of these guards are just wound too tight,” a man whispered.

Pritchett turned to see an unexpected face—Harvey Cordell.

“Harvey—what are you doing here?” Pritchett asked softly.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing,” Cordell said. “I wouldn’t want you to get yelled at again.”

The two men continued their duty of retrieving whatever items at the bottom of their baskets and tossing them over to the fellow prisoner responsible for loading each machine. As Pritchett surveyed the room, he noticed how listless the other prisoners were. And while the guards were attentive, they hardly looked in any other direction except Pritchett’s.

“How did you end up here?” Cordell asked.

“No idea. I was in Barcelona for the race on a mission.”

“I miss racing,” Cordell said. “Kensington got me into it, but I haven’t followed it closely in several months.”

“Well, I’ll break it down for you—a bunch of guys in fast cars go around and around. Eventually one of them crosses the finish line first.”

“There’s more to it than that. You’re just—”

“I’m just not as impressed as most guys. It seems more like a hobby than a sport. And at the moment, you’re going to have a hard time convincing me to enjoy it since one of the driver’s is an assassin for the KGB, but I digress.”

“So, what exactly happened to you?”

“The last thing I remember, I was being dragged away before waking up in the custody of some SDB agents.”

“So, this wasn’t the work of the KGB?”

Pritchett continued searching for laundry, speaking softly once his face was buried in the clothes bin. “I can’t say for sure, but I’m sure they were working closely on this. My guess is that the KGB did this and I’m just being held here for a period of time.”

“Well, someone is attempting to get you out,” Cordell said.

“Really?”

“I saw two agents from the Bonn station here earlier—Poindexter and Maddux.”

“Of course,” Pritchett said. “Those two knuckleheads are stupid enough and fiercely loyal to me that they would attempt such a thing. They’re going to get caught.”

“Maybe, maybe not. They seem to have a plan based around General Jankovic’s weakness.”

“Are they using wine?”

Cordell nodded. “That’s a well-established fact within the agency. Looks like they sold him some.”

“Did either Dex or Maddux see you?”

“No, I don’t think so, but they’re coming back very soon.”

“How soon?”

“I overheard them say that they had some more bottles of wine to get for Jankovic. If they promised him some, I doubt they’re going to want to keep him waiting.”

“Yeah, we all know how he gets about his wine. If they don’t get back here quickly, Jankovic will probably send someone after them.”

“If they get captured, we’ll likely never get out of here alive.”

“That’s the least of our worries,” Pritchett said.

A guard stomped toward them, pointing as he spoke. “You and you—no talking.”

Pritchett nodded and kept sorting. He waited until the guard was on the other side of the room at his post before resuming conversation again.

“That guy needs to be dealt with,” Pritchett said, nodding in the guard’s direction.

“Wait, back up a second,” Cordell said. “What do you mean this is the least of our worries? For the time being, escaping in the biggest concern I have.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. There’s far more to this place than meets the eye.”

Cordell pulled another cart over to them and continued sorting. “Please, enlighten me.”

“Don’t you see what’s going on around you?”

Cordell scanned the room. “Looks like prison work detail to me.”

Pritchett shook his head. “I’ve only got one eye and I can see what’s happening better than you. Take another look.”

Cordell went along. “Nope. I’m not seeing anything else.”

“Everyone here is like a robot. They do exactly what they are told without questioning, without fighting. It’s inane. This is not what defiance looks like.”

“Maybe they’re tired of resisting. Have you ever considered that?”

Pritchett sighed. “There’s putting your head down and doing your work. And then there are vacant stares. Just look around, and you’ll start to notice what I’m talking about.”

Cordell shrugged. “I’m not seeing it.”

“Hey, you,” a guard barked as he pointed at Cordell. “I said no talking.”

Cordell turned around and pointed at himself, feigning ignorance. “Me,” he mouthed to the guard.

But he had already darted from his position and was hustling toward Cordell. With a forearm shiver to his face, Cordell tumbled to the ground. The guard kicked Cordell in the ribs.

“Next time, you obey,” the guard said as he placed his foot on Cordell’s chest.

Cordell nodded and coughed, clutching his midsection and glaring up at the guard.

“Get back to work,” the guard said with a growl.

Cordell clambered to his feet, staggering for a few steps before grabbing on to one of the linen carts to help regain his balance.

Pritchett put his arm around Cordell to help him stand upright.

“See what I’m talking about?” Pritchett said. “They’re treating us more harshly than anyone else here.”

Cordell moaned softly. “Maybe you’re right. I know my ribs will agree with anything you say right now.”

Pritchett finished removing the last piece from the cart and wheeled them toward the back entrance, which contained a ramp for transporting objects up and down. He heard a pair of guards talking in Serbian, which made him freeze before busting through the door.

“How have the prisoners been?” one guard asked.

“They are a little ornery, but I’ve seen worse,” the other replied.

“Like the Polish assassin?”

“We’ve never had anyone worse than him. Minding these two is a dream in comparison.”

“Well, they won’t be so feisty after tomorrow, will they?”

Pritchett put his shoulder into the swinging doors, whistling as he went. The guards scrambled to get out of the way, each muttering curses underneath his breath. With a forceful shove, Pritchett pushed the cart down the ramp where another prisoner stood mindlessly waiting.

Hustling back toward the main room, Pritchett signaled for Cordell to come over.

“What is it?” Cordell asked. “I’m really taking a big risk right now. This better be worth it.”

“Something is going to happen to us by tomorrow,” Pritchett said.

“And what exactly is going to happen?” Cordell asked.

“I don’t know yet, but it’s supposedly something to do with our behavior, which would make me right about what I said earlier. Whatever it is, it’s going to make us more compliant like all these other prisoners.”

“What are they going to do? Hypnotize us?” Cordell asked with a chuckle.

Pritchett glowered at him. “Don’t mock. We have no idea what’s truly going on in this facility—and I don’t want to find out either, and I’m better neither do you.”

“Hey,” the guard barked from across the room. “Didn’t I say no talking?”

Pritchett looked around and pointed at himself. “Are you speaking to me?”

“You were talking, weren’t you?”

Pritchett shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by the word talking.”

“Shut up,” the guard said. “Solitary confinement for you.”

“No, no, no,” Pritchett argued. “Neither one of us were talking.”

“Let’s go,” said the guard, unwilling to listen to any of Pritchett’s protests while shoving the Bonn station chief down a narrow corridor. “You’ll be lucky to see sunshine in the next couple of weeks.”