Stand Your Ground (10 page)

“You two know each other?” Travis Jessup asked as Alexis Devereaux glared at Stark. She seemed to be annoyed by the fact that he kept on smiling pleasantly at her.

“We've met,” Stark said. “And of course I've seen her on TV many times.”

“And me, too, of course,” Jessup said. “You've seen me, haven't you?”

The newsman had introduced himself to Stark a few minutes earlier when Stark came into the reception room outside George Baldwin's office. He had stopped at a restroom along the way to the office.

Anyway, Alexis wanted to meet with Baldwin, not with him, Stark reasoned, so he didn't horn in on their conversation.

It was clear from her expression now that she wasn't happy he was here.

Stark had known who Jessup was, and Jessup had recognized Stark, too. Very few in the news media were fond of John Howard Stark. Most of them considered him a crazed, violent, right-wing vigilante.

The only exceptions were a couple of rogue cable networks that dared to swim against the tide of liberal swill dished out by the rest of the media as “objectivity.”

Stark meant ratings, though, and that was more important than ideology, so all the networks had covered his previous clashes with the Mexican drug cartels operating in partnership with Islamic terrorist organizations, as well as his part in the bloody fiasco at the Alamo caused by political correctness gone amok.

Because of that, Jessup ignored the fact that Stark hadn't answered his question and suggested, “Why don't we get the two of you to sit down together for a dialogue about the situation here at the prison? I'm sure it would be very instructive for our viewers.”

“I don't think so,” Alexis replied coldly. “Mr. Stark and I really don't have anything to say to each other. Besides, he's hardly an expert on prisons and the judicial system . . . other than being arrested a few times.”

“But never charged with anything,” Stark pointed out.

“Only because for some reason unfathomable to me, you have a few friends in high places.”

Stark shrugged and said, “A few friends in low places, too, to quote Garth Brooks.” He turned to Jessup and went on, “But Ms. Devereaux is right. I'm no expert. I wouldn't have anything to add to the discussion.”

Alexis said, “Phillip Hamil is in town. You should find him and see if he'd like to come on with us.”

“He is? That would be excellent. I've interviewed Dr. Hamil a couple of times. I'm sure he'd be glad to cooperate with us.”

Stark didn't doubt it. Hamil struck him as a person who liked being the center of attention . . . just like Alexis.

It might be amusing to watch those two trying to upstage each other, he thought.

Alexis turned to George Baldwin, who had followed her out of the office, and said, “I suppose we should go ahead and start our tour now, Warden.”

“By all means,” Baldwin said. “I'll be happy to show you around the prison.”

Alexis's tone sharpened as she said, “I don't care about the rest of the place, just wherever you have those political prisoners locked up.”

Baldwin looked like he wanted to argue again about whether the terrorists were actually political prisoners, Stark thought, but he didn't say anything.

Stark also noticed that Travis Jessup had made an unobtrusive gesture toward the two people with him. The tall, bearded man made some adjustment to the equipment he carried, and the attractive, ponytailed woman with the camera lifted it to her shoulder. Stark figured she was already recording, and so was the soundman.

From here on out, everything that happened would be documented.

In a firm voice, Baldwin said, “I'm certainly willing to show you what you want to see, Ms. Devereaux, but I think it's only fair that you let me show you the rest of the facility, too. After all, there's a lot more to Hell's Gate than just the one wing you're concerned with. There's also the story of what an economic boon this facility has been to the citizens of the county.”

Alexis looked equally stubborn, but she said, “All right, if that's where you'd like to begin, perhaps you can tell me why Hell's Gate was scheduled to be closed until those prisoners were transferred here from Guantanamo and other, even more shadowy military prisons?”

Stark could tell that the question surprised his old friend. Baldwin's jaw clenched and a little muscle jumped in it for a second before he said, “I don't know where you heard that rumor—”

“It's not a rumor. The federal government's contract with the Baldwin Correctional Facility wasn't going to be renewed when it expires next year. Without that contract, the prison would have to close. But now that you're housing those political prisoners here, the government is willing to keep the place open indefinitely. The government is paying you back for your shameful complicity in this matter.”

“Any time a government contract is up for renewal, there are going to be negotiations,” Baldwin said stiffly. “I assure you, nothing has been settled regarding any of this. And to be blunt, Ms. Devereaux, it's not really any of your business, either.”

“But it's the business of the American people, isn't it? The government works for them.”

“Does it?” Baldwin said. “As far as I can tell, the past few Democratic administrations have taken the view that the people work for the government, not the other way around.”

Alexis wasn't happy that Baldwin had gotten that shot in, Stark thought. And Travis Jessup wasn't happy because Alexis hadn't let him get a word in edgewise so far. He was holding a microphone and looking like an eager little boy waiting anxiously for his part in the school play. Alexis was the one acting more like a crusading journalist, though.

“All right, go ahead and lead the way,” she told Baldwin. “Just don't think you're going to get away with glossing over the truth.”

“That wasn't my intention,” Baldwin said as he held out a hand to indicate that Alexis should precede him out of the office.

She did, and he went with her, followed closely by Travis Jessup. The other two members of the news crew trailed Jessup.

Stark brought up the rear.

The woman with the camera lowered it. She wasn't shooting at the moment. She hung back a little until Stark's long-legged strides caught up with her, and then she said, “You should be up there with the others, Mr. Stark.”

Stark shook his head and said, “I'm not the story here. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what the story
is
.”

“The government's got those men locked up because they're Muslims.”

“Nope. They're locked up because they're terrorists who have murdered American citizens and plotted to kill even more. They're fanatics who want to destroy this country.”

The woman lowered her voice to a confidential tone and said, “Don't tell anybody, but I sort of agree with you. Not everybody in the media swears blind allegiance to the left, you know.”

“Enough do that it's hard to get the truth out there. Getting harder all the time.”

The woman shrugged and said, “We've got to eat. This is our job.” She put out her hand. “I'm Riley Nichols.”

“John Howard Stark,” he said as he shook with her.

“My buddy up there with the sound equipment is Joel Fanning.”

“He share your political opinions?”

Riley said, “Not hardly. Neither does Travis.”

“You'd think anybody who nearly got his career ended by a Democratic First Lady wouldn't be as sympathetic to their cause anymore.”

“You know about that, eh?”

“I remember reading something about it,” Stark said.

“Well, even with what happened to Travis, he's still a true believer. For a lot of people in the media, liberal politics is their religion, you know. Their faith in the government rises above everything else. Unless, of course, a Republican happens to be running things, like the governor here in Texas. Then government can't be trusted.”

“Must be hard for you, seeing things different than the people you work with.”

“I've learned how to put up with it,” Riley said with a grin. “A healthy application of scotch and a little mental elbow grease wipes away most of the stains.”

The two of them had dropped back about twenty feet behind the others as Baldwin led the group along a corridor. Stark enjoyed talking to Riley Nichols and felt an instinctive liking for her. Not in any romantic way—she was half his age—but he sensed that they were kindred spirits in some respects.

But the conversation didn't continue because Travis Jessup looked back over his shoulder with an irritated expression on his patrician face and motioned for Riley to catch up.

The group had reached a door that Stark recognized, and as Baldwin opened that door, he said, “I'll start by showing you our library.”

“That's not—” Alexis began impatiently.

Baldwin interrupted by saying, “You told me I could conduct the tour as I saw fit, Ms. Devereaux, as long as you get to see what you wanted to see. I want the American people to get a true picture of this facility, and that includes more than just locking up prisoners.”

“Oh, all right,” Alexis said in obvious annoyance. “Just get it over with.”

They stepped into the library, first Baldwin, then Alexis, then the news crew, and finally Stark. On the other side of the room, behind the counter, Lucas Kincaid looked up from the computer where he'd been working and stared in surprise as the visitors entered.

Stark was a little surprised, too.

Because just for a second it had looked to him like Kincaid was scared.

And he had a hunch that not many things in this world scared Lucas Kincaid.

In this day and age, the only way to escape surveillance cameras entirely was to find a piece of wilderness isolated enough that nobody ever came there, pitch a tent, build a fire, and squat for the rest of your life.

But even then, a man wouldn't be completely safe. Kincaid had heard through some of his contacts that the intelligence agencies—which now answered only to the president, not Congress, since that august body had dissolved its oversight committees and abdicated yet another of its responsibilities to their dear Democratic leader—had such powerful satellite capabilities that they could zero in from space on an area no more than ten feet square.

They could spy on anybody on the face of the earth . . . and they did, if that somebody was deemed to be a political enemy of the man in the White House.

So Kincaid knew he was taking a chance on discovery, just by continuing to live his life.

But what was the point if you had to spend the rest of your days deep in hiding?

That wasn't living. That was just existing.

And it wasn't worth it.

It didn't hurt anything, though, to try to minimize the chances of being seen by somebody who would recognize him and want to kill him.

For that reason, he didn't want those people coming into the library with their camera. The last thing in the world he needed was to have his face plastered all over the news broadcasts.

Wasn't much he could do about it now, though. They were in here, coming toward the counter, and if he tried to duck and refused to be on camera, that would be even more suspicious.

So he kept his face blandly expressionless as the group came up to him. Warden Baldwin said to the blond woman with him, “This is our library supervisor, Lucas Kincaid.”

Kincaid wasn't worried about the name being recognized.

That wasn't the name he had used in the killing fields on the other side of the world. Over there he had still been known by the name he was born with.

“Lucas,” Baldwin went on, “this lady is Ms. Alexis Devereaux.”

The name was vaguely familiar to Kincaid, but he couldn't place it. He nodded politely to the woman and said, “I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Devereaux.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she responded.

Her cold, sneering tone made Kincaid realize where he had seen her before—on TV, appearing as a liberal commentator on various news and opinion shows. Although in reality the line between “news” and “opinion” had long since disappeared where liberals were concerned, Kincaid reminded himself.

She didn't offer to shake hands, so Kincaid didn't, either, and was glad of it.

“Tell me, Mr. Kincaid,” Alexis Devereaux went on, “are the inmates allowed to use this library?”

“Well, that's sort of what it's here for,” Kincaid said.

“
All
the inmates?”

He had a hunch he knew what she was getting at, but he said, “All the ones who have library privileges. That's like any other privilege. It can be taken away for various reasons.”

“Behavioral reasons,” Baldwin put in. “There are other privileges that men who cause trouble lose.”