Poe (15 page)

Without a word, she returned to her own bunk, climbed on, and stretched out.

The other two women were pressed against the wall near the bars, watching her with a mix of fear and awe.

“Problem?” Alex asked.

The mousier of the two shook her head. “No,” she said. “No problem.” Her accent was more German than Ukrainian.

“Good.” Alex squirmed around until she was comfortable. “I assume you wouldn’t mind if I took a little nap?”

“Of course not,” Mousy said.

“I’d advise you to make sure your buddy there doesn’t try to take advantage while I’m out. I’m hell full of mean if someone wakes me up before I’m ready.”

Mousy hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I will let her know.”

“I appreciate it.”

Alex closed her eyes, and though she hadn’t planned to fall asleep, she did.

Cooper lowered his
binoculars. “Well, she’s in,” he said.

Deuce lowered his own set a moment later, frowning. “Yep.”

They were lying on the crest of a hill, overlooking the prison from half a mile away. They had just watched Alex being escorted into the building.

“You’d better let the boss man know,” Deuce said.

Cooper nodded, pulled out his phone, and fired off a text:

INSERTION COMPLETE

The reply came back within seconds.

ACKNOWLEDGED

“So what now?” Deuce asked.

“Now we wait.”

* * *

As she had done on each of the three previous days since her arrival, the assassin took careful note of any new arriving prisoners, just in case El-Hashim had been able to smuggle in more help.

The woman had already surrounded herself with three bodyguards. And while the assassin knew she could take care of them with very little effort, the time it would take could be problematic. Any delay might give El-Hashim a chance to escape or, worse, get the attention of the guards who might stop the assassin before she reached her target.

No matter
how
she proceeded, failure was not an option. She had to be a hundred percent sure that this assignment concluded with the death of El-Hashim, and that the assassin herself wasn’t caught in the process.

As on the previous days, none of the new prisoners made a beeline for the cellblock where El-Hashim had holed up, so it was still just the three bodyguards. In fact, the only unusual thing about this day’s arrivals was a woman who appeared to be from North America.

The assassin mentally filed away the woman’s face, along with the others she’d noted that day, just in case any of them popped back up on her radar. Information was key to her job, and she never missed an opportunity to gather what she could.

Her task completed for the day, she set her mind back on the more important matter at hand.

The demise of Fadilah El-Hashim.

When the buzzer
sounded, Alex came awake, her muscles tense.

For a split second, she wondered why a mattress was hanging a few feet above her. Then she remembered. She wasn’t home. This wasn’t her bedroom.

This was prison.

And the sound she’d heard hadn’t been an alarm.

Her cellmates were shuffling past her bunk, giving her wary looks as they headed for the cell door. Alex twisted around and saw it was open.

“What’s going on?” she asked Mousy.

The girl looked at her as if she’d rather not answer, but said meekly, “Night check.” A pause. “If you don’t want problem, you’ll come, too.”

Alex crawled out of her bunk and followed the others into the common area in the middle of their cellblock. All the other doors were also open, the inmates forming two parallel lines, each facing the cells they’d just left.

Alex’s cellmates fell into the line side by side, spreading themselves out just enough so that there was no room for her. They were probably hoping she’d go down to the end of the line, where she’d undoubtedly be disciplined for being out of position. Instead, she forced her way between Mousy and the woman she’d taken the bunk from.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile.

Her sparring partner muttered something under her breath that Alex didn’t need translated to understand. She ignored it.

All conversation and movement in the room suddenly stopped. Silence reigned for nearly a minute, until the block door opened and five male guards piled in.

Their gender didn’t surprise Alex. She knew that, even in the US, the majority of prison guards were male, and not necessarily restricted to inmate processing when it came to female prisoners. Back home, many women inmates were left to the unchecked mercy of their male captors, and it obviously wasn’t any different in Ukraine.

In fact, it was probably much worse.

While one guard remained by the door, the others divided in half, one pair walking up each row. They read from a list—names or numbers, Alex wasn’t sure which—and each time a different inmate would say something that sounded like “talk” or “tack.”

When they reached Alex, they stopped. The man holding the paper ran a finger down the list, and said something to his partner. They both looked at the list again, the second man pointing at something near the bottom.

The man with the paper read what was there, and they both looked at Alex.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s your number,” Mousy whispered. “Just say yes.”

“Okay. Yes.”

The guard closest to her narrowed his eyes, a small oval birthmark on his cheek stretching slightly.

“
Tak
,” Mousy whispered. “Just say
tak.
”

“
Tak
,” Alex repeated.

The guard stared at her a moment longer, smirked, then he and his colleague moved to the next person in line.

When they were far enough away, Alex whispered, “Thanks,” but Mousy didn’t acknowledge her.

Once the guards reached the end of the lines, one of them barked an order, and the prisoners headed back to their cells.

Within minutes, all but a couple of the lights in the central area went out. Alex crawled into her bed, and stared at the bunk above her as she tried to quell a sudden sense of claustrophobia.

Fadilah El-Hashim
.
Find her. Get her out.

Get
me
out.

* * *

B
REAKFAST THE NEXT
morning was in a large, gray room in the basement of Building One. Alex fell into line behind her cellmates and followed their lead, grabbing a bowl and spoon before accepting a ladle full of porridge that nearly matched the shade of the walls.

When she took a seat next to Mousy at a table in the middle of the room, the woman gave her a dirty look but didn’t tell her to go away.

The initial taste of the porridge was enough to reinforce Alex’s desire to get this whole thing over with as quickly as possible. The goop was like liquid cardboard flavored with spoiled milk. She powered through, however, knowing she needed to keep her energy level at its highest.

Being the first at the table to finish, she asked Mousy, “What do I do with my bowl?”

Mousy glanced over, and put another spoonful of porridge in her mouth without answering.

Alex had to fight hard not to roll her eyes. “I’m just asking a question. Would you rather I stay here and wait for you?”

Before Mousy could respond, a brown-haired girl with a faded black eye sitting across the table said, “There.” She nodded past Alex, so Alex turned to see what she meant. “Hole in the wall. You put on the shelf.”

The hole was a glassless window with a counter sticking through it that had several bowls already piled on it.

“Thanks,” Alex said as she started to rise, but then she paused. “Where am I supposed to go after that?”

The girl laughed. “Oh, right. First day. It is always like this.”

Alex looked at her, surprised, then realized she’d seen the woman before. “You’re the woman who gave me the dress.”

A grin. “Frida.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It is Frida.”

“I’m Maureen,” Alex told her. She nearly reached out to offer the girl her hand, but stopped herself because she didn’t know what the norm was here.

The girl made no move to shake, and instead said, “One hour yard time. So go outside. After, assigned duty.”

“Assigned duty? I don’t know what that is.”

“They give to you. No worry.”

Alex stood the rest of the way up. “Thanks, Frida.”

“You’re welcome,” the girl said, adding, “Maureen.”

* * *

T
URNED OUT THERE
was only one direction Alex could have gone after leaving the cafeteria. She took the stairs back to the ground floor, and found a barred door had been closed across the hallway to the cellblocks. The only one open led outside.

As she stepped through the doorway, she had to raise a hand to shield her eyes from the bright, hot sunlight. A few feet out, she stopped and let her body soak in some rays as she took in several deep breaths of fresh air. Finally she forced herself to set about familiarizing herself with the prison yard.

She’d already been exposed to the area between the cellblock and admin buildings, so she circled around Building One to get a look at the backside. Grass and dirt dominated this part of the yard, too. The only exception was an area close to the wall on her far left that appeared to be set up for sporting activities. She decided to wander in that direction to get a better look.

There were only a few dozen other inmates outside so far. Most seemed to be keeping to themselves, while some were paired off in twos and threes. Wanting to stay as far under the radar as possible, Alex chose a path that kept her well away from any of the others.

As she reached the area near the wall, she found bars and beams for exercising, and a concrete pad with a volleyball net strung across the middle. The net wasn’t in the greatest shape, and had at least one hole big enough to fit a ball through.

She scanned the prison wall to the back of the yard, past the corner guard tower, then along the rear portion of the enclosure. Not far down, she paused her gaze on a door built into the wall. It was painted a light gray that blended well with the stone surrounding it, making it hard to see. Judging by its location, it had to be an entrance to the small walled-off area that enclosed the isolated building.

She continued her study of the wall, but found no other points of interest. It was all just stone and guard towers and barbed wire.

Back at the cellblock buildings more and more women were piling outside. Larger groups were forming, and the buzz of conversation increased. Soon the place would be crowded.

Alex moved over to the chin-up bar, lowered herself onto the ground, and leaned against the post to watch her fellow prisoners, trying to get a feel for the dynamics here. The majority of the women were Caucasian, maybe eighty percent, and those who weren’t looked more Mediterranean—Italian, Greek, Turkish, perhaps even Arab. No more than a dozen were of African descent.

A group of women standing near Building Two caught her eye. They wore the same gray dresses as everyone else, but their heads and most of their faces were covered by cloth, also gray.

Hijabs, Alex realized. She was surprised that the prison officials allowed the women to wear religious head scarves.

Alex watched them intently, wondering if one of them could be her target. El-Hashim had a worn similar hijab in all of the photographs Alex had seen.

She softly clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ID-ing the target was her number one priority, but how would she go about it?

The easiest solution, of course, would be to find El-Hashim’s prison cell and get a look inside. If she was there, it was done. If she wasn’t, that would increase the likelihood that she was standing with the group of scarf-wearing women right now.

Two fifty-nine. That was the cell number McElroy had said.

She recalled the map he’d shown her. Building Two, center block.

The problem was, since the cellblocks of Building One were currently sealed off, it was a fair guess that those in Building Two would be, too.

How long would that last? To the end of yard time? Or longer?

Frida had told her that after yard time was assigned duty, but would that entail allowing the prisoners back to their cells first? Could it be that some of the assigned duties were
in
the cellblocks?

One option would be to spend the day observing how everything worked, then take her chance at that point. But doing that would negate a card she could play today and, quite possibly, only today, especially if her hunch was right and the cellblocks would be opened up again very soon.

She weighed her choices, but the decision was an easy one. Rising back to her feet, she began walking toward the central buildings so that she’d be in position once yard time was over.

As the new kid, she garnered a lot of looks while she worked her way through the crowd. She was passing the entrance to Building One when someone touched her arm. She jerked it back, tensed, ready for a fight.

“Relax,” Frida said. “Only me.”

Alex smiled. “Sorry.”

“Not problem. So what you think?”

“It’s no Disneyland.”

Frida laughed. “I could not say. I have never been to Disneyland. It is good?”

“The happiest place on Earth,” Alex said. She looked around, knowing she didn’t have much time to get into position. “I need to find a toilet, so I’ll catch you around, huh?”

As she started to walk away, Frida said, “I can show you where.”

Keeping the frustration from her voice, Alex smiled. “Thanks. That would be great.”

Frida led her back through the open door to Building One. Instead of going left down the hallway, however, she turned right. There was a door five feet back, dead-ending the corridor.

“Here we are,” she said.

Alex had dismissed the door as an entrance to a closet or storage area. What it led into, though, was a narrow room with a row of toilets against one wall and a long, metal trough sink along the other. There were no dividers between the toilets, privacy not a luxury in a place like this.