by Arnie
"Sit down, Lieutenant."
He sat and stared at General Freemont. While it was not up to him to make judgements about his superiors and their mental health, he did wonder what the general's last psych report had said. This idea was insane!
"As I said, you'll be leading a team of convicts and taking them behind enemy lines in order to complete intelligence missions."
The general picked up a file and Craig knew it had to be his own.
"You've shown initiative in previous situations, you're capable of dealing with the most difficult of soldiers, and we believe that you'll be able to handle these convicts."
He stared the general in the eye. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
"Sir, with all due respect, taking a team of convicts behind enemy lines is a mistake. They can't be trusted not to run, they can't be trusted to follow orders - it's a recipe for disaster!"
"Where would they go? They'll be behind enemy lines, if they're captured they'll be shot as spies. They'll have no choice but to follow your orders." The file snapped shut. "In any case, Lieutenant, the decision has been made. Lieutenant Bradley has the files of all the prospective candidates for your team. We've only included the files of those men whose talents we can use, and who we feel are likely to agree to our terms but I'd like you to go through them and choose the men you believe you can work with."
"Yes, sir."
"They'll be in your hands, Lieutenant. Do what you have to to whip them into order. I know they're not soldiers, but that means that you don't have to treat them like soldiers."
"Yes, sir." Craig stood and saluted his superior.
"Good luck, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, sir."
Pausing only to collect the aforementioned files from General Freemont's secretary, Craig retired to his temporary office and started reading through them.
~'~
With military precision, his route was decided. As he and his assembled team, assuming they all said yes, would fly to England from New York, his first port of call was San Francisco.
A few days later, he was staring up at 'The Rock' as the boat approached it. Alcatraz. Desolate, isolated, and home to hardened killers, including Julius 'Wheeler' Fotiadis.
Craig stared up at the stark facade of the prison building. Bleak was the word that came to his mind. In spite of the warmer weather, the stone yard was cold. The soft summer breeze that had made the trip over so pleasant, was harsher here as it fluttered the pages in the file he was carrying.
Inside, the starkness continued. There were doors of bars that clanged shut behind him with a finality that could not be ignored, although he kept his face impassive. The men in here were convicts - they'd known the risks when they committed their crimes.
Continuing into the building, he was almost startled by the change as he approached the head warden's office. He glanced around as a feeling of deja vu swept over him. Government offices always looked, smelt and felt the same, but he'd expected something different in a place like this.
~'~
"I don't advise you to see Fotiadis alone, Lieutenant."
Grant, the head warden, was serious and Craig appreciated the thought. "Nevertheless, I have to."
He leaned forward. "I don't know what kind of an offer you're going to make Fotiadis - and I'm not sure I want to know! - but I do know that my staff will respect the confidentiality the army deems necessary."
"It's not that, Governor, I can assure you of that. Fotiadis himself won't be given any details until he reaches England."
"Then what?" Grant obviously thought he was mad for going into a room, alone, with a convicted killer like Fotiadis.
"If I can't face him alone here, how can I face him once we're outside these walls? He needs to know that I'm not afraid of him - that I can and will put him in his place and that I don't need guards to help me do it."
Grant nodded. "That makes sense, Lieutenant. Well, I wish you luck. Ah, they're bringing him now. My men and I will be outside the door - you only have to shout."
"Thank you, Governor."
A quiet knock was heard at the door. "Come in!"
Two guards entered, a third man between them. Craig's skin crawled slightly. The subtle threat of violence was in the prisoner's every move, his hatred shining out of his dark eyes as he plonked himself down in a chair.
"We'll be outside," the head warden reminded Craig, and the door shut quietly behind them.
"So, whaddya want?"
Craig perched on the edge of the desk and looked down at Fotiadis. He'd seen the man's record, knew what the man was capable of. But with the electric chair waiting for him, the convict might be persuaded to behave himself for the sake of a parole...and life. "To make you an offer."
Fotiadis snorted. A humourless gust of laughter that mocked. "What kind of offer can you possibly make that I'd be interested in?"
"A parole."
The mocking look faded from the man's face for a second then a gleam entered his eye. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"So what would I have to do for this parole?"
"Work for the army. Follow my orders. Do what you're told and keep your nose clean."
The dark eyes slid over Craig as if the man was weighing his chances against him.
"It's that or the chair."
The gaze stopped, then a nasty smile creased the man's face. "Why not? I've got nothing to lose."
~'~
Watching Alcatraz recede as the boat chugged its way back to San Francisco, Craig wondered if he'd made a mistake. He didn't like Fotiadis and he didn't trust him at all. He'd been glad to leave him behind, leave him for the prison authorities to have him transferred straight to Leavenworth where Craig would, he hoped, collect another of his team.
His eyes traced the outline of the prison, and he felt as though he could see the desperation that had seeped into every piece of masonry. He was glad to be out of there.
~'~'~
Craig hurried up the steps and entered the building. If he were late, if they gave Anderson a parole, he'd lose someone he was determined would be on his team. Craig paused for a second as he saw a nervous figure sitting on a bench, a prison guard at his side. It looked as if the parole board had seen the prisoner and were now deliberating his fate. He was in time.
~'~
"'Ere! That's the bloke what scuppered me parole!"
Craig managed to stop himself from laughing. So the nervous convict had noticed him leaving the parole board meeting. "Sit down, Rodney. Thank you, Governor."
The door slammed shut behind the annoyed governor but Craig ignored it as he looked Anderson over. Small and slight, prison had to be hell for him unless he managed to keep himself safe by being useful to the convicts who ran the prison when the guards' backs were turned.
As he offered a cigarette to the prisoner, unsurprised when another three were removed from the packet, Craig hoped sincerely that Anderson had been useful, rather than used. "You're quite right, you know," he admitted, offering the matches, "I did scupper your parole. However, I can offer you the chance to get out of here."
The matches disappeared into Anderson's pocket and he shrugged. "'Ow's that then?"
"It's quite simple. Come work for the army."
He looked up and stared into Craig's eyes. There was a hint of desperate fear lurking in the blue ones that met his, a need to escape that meant that any and all risks would be ignored.
"Okay."
"Good; I'll get the paperwork sorted. You'd better change out of that uniform. I'm leaving in half an hour."
Eagerly, Rodney snuffed out his cigarette, carefully pinching the end and putting the stub away for later, before hurrying to the door. He turned then, curiosity on his face, "Where are we going?"
"We'll be stationed in England."
"Okay."
As he watched the prisoner follow the prison guard out of sight, Craig sighed. He hadn't intended to take Anderson with him - he had intended to have him transferred to Leavenworth so that he could collect the lot of them in one go, as it were. But something of the desperation in the man's eyes had spoken to him. He didn't know what was going on with Anderson, but any man who'd jump so willingly into the fire without a second's thought had to be desperate indeed.
He shrugged. Anderson was not a violent prisoner by any means, all of his records showed that, so travelling with him would be not such a chore as travelling with Fotiadis would have been. He'd just have to make sure that he didn't lose Anderson on the way - he couldn't imagine what General Freemont would say if he did!
~'~'~
Reaching the next prison on his list, Craig went to get out of the car then stopped and looked back at his companion. Guileless blue eyes looked back at him, then an endearing smile took up residence on the cheeky face.
No, he really didn't think he could leave Anderson, or 'Goniff' as he preferred to be called, in the car without taking some precautions. Fortunately, he had come prepared.
"Excuse me." He leaned across Goniff and snapped a handcuff onto his wrist then attached it to the door handle. If he wanted to go anywhere, he'd have to take the door with him.
"Aww, Lieutenant. Anyone would think you don't trust me!"
He smiled. "I don't."
~'~
"Lieutenant Garrison?"
Craig shook the head warden's hand firmly. "Governor Benton."
The man leaned back in his comfortable leather chair and steepled his hands. "I believe you're here to see Garvey," he intoned, condescendingly.
"That's right."
"I have to tell you, Lieutenant, letting him out is a mistake. He's an Indian and he can't be trusted."
Craig kept his face impassive as he stared back at the bigot. What the hell did Garvey being an Indian have to do with him being trustworthy? "He won't be 'let out', I can assure you."
"Be that as it may, the man has killed before and will kill again. Do you really think -"
"I have my orders, sir," Craig interrupted. "As do you."
The head warden pulled a face. "All right, Cranton, fetch Garvey."
Cranton spoke hesitatingly, "He's in solitary, sir."
"Do you see, Lieutenant? The man can't be trusted at all!"
"Nevertheless, Governor, I'd like to see him." Craig put some steel into his voice.
"Oh, very well! Fetch him from solitary, Cranton - but watch your back with him."
The door shut behind the unhappy guard.
"Garvey spends more time in solitary than out of it, Lieutenant. Do you think that you can put him into solitary when he's 'working with the army'?"
Craig glanced down at the file on his knee, his memory bringing to mind the photo of the young looking man whose record proclaimed him to be a cold blooded killer. If he were in Rainey Garvey's place, he'd have preferred to spend time in solitary too. "I'm confident that I can keep him under control."
"Under control!" Benton stood and paced behind his desk. "There's no way to keep him under control, Lieutenant, no way at all! If you turn your back on him, he'll kill you as soon as look at you!"
"Then I'll make sure not to turn my back on him, won't I?"
"And what about the men you're working with - other soldiers? Will they be warned to never turn their backs on Garvey? How many soldiers will he kill before you realise what a mistake this is?!" A knock at the door interrupted him. He took a breath, obviously trying to regain control of himself and snapped, "Come in!"
Craig stood and turned to face the door as it opened. He ignored the two prison warders, and focused his attention on the dark haired, dark eyed man from the photo.
Garvey looked even younger than he had in his mug shot as he moved slowly into the office, his actions cautious.
No matter what his reputation, Craig knew that this was a man who was used to having to keep his own back to the wall. "I'd prefer to speak to Rainey alone, if you don't mind."
"Rainey! Who's...?" The guard looked confused for a second, then, "Oh, him. We all call him 'Chief'."
"And you're crazy to see him alone!" the head warden argued. "He's a killer!"
"Nevertheless, I'd prefer to speak to him alone. Thank you."
The head warden was obviously furious at being dismissed from his own office, but he left, taking the two guards with him.
Craig waited until Garvey turned to face him, meeting the hard stare with equanimity. "So, Rainey...or do you prefer Chief?" Settling himself comfortably on the edge of the desk, he waved the other man to the chair he'd recently been sitting in.
He got a shrug as the man sat down. "Doesn't matter."
"Okay...Chief. Have you ever thought of working for the Government?"
Surprise crossed Chief's face, wiping away the hard look and making him look even younger. "The Government?"
Craig nodded. "My name's Garrison. Lieutenant Garrison. And if you're interested, this could get you out of here. Unless you prefer solitary?"
There was a few seconds' silence as Chief thought it over. Craig remained silent. The man wasn't stupid, he had to see that he'd be better off with the army than trapped in a prison full of men who hadn't seen a woman in a long, long time. Even though the Indian had obviously been doing a good job of protecting himself - and Craig would swear that he used solitary as a means to escape from the daily threat - sooner or later, his guard would slip and someone, somewhere, would be waiting to take down the pretty boy.
Chief nodded slowly and Craig knew he'd won. He just needed the convict to say it.
"If you agree, you'll be flying to England in two days' time. You'll have to go through some basic training but after that, you'll be working with me."
The answer was slow, quiet, but it was definite, if unenthusiastic. "All right."
"Good." Craig stood and tucked the file back under his arm before adding, "I think you'd be better off staying in solitary until you're collected." He had no intention of trying to deal with Goniff and Chief while he interviewed his last two prospective team members. "Are you all right with that?"
A flash of relief told Craig he'd been right in everything he'd thought. "I can handle it."
"Good. I'll inform the head warden." Leaving the office, Craig paused to give his orders to the head warden and the prison guards. He could tell that they weren't pleased at the turn of events, but they'd follow his orders, he was sure of that.
Leaving the prison was a relief, although he wasn't sure he'd done the right thing. Chief was a jack of all trades in many ways. A mechanic, a car thief, and good with alarms, but the young man was not a cold blooded killer at heart, whatever image he projected in prison. Craig shook his head. It was all protective camouflage - a way to make the circling sharks think twice about dragging him under. Well, he'd offered a way out and Chief had accepted it. His mechanical skills would come in handy, Garrison was positive of that.
~'~'~
Relaxing in the back seat of his car as he was driven to another prison, Craig flicked open the file and smiled. Whoever this Machiavelli really was, he had a sense of humour. His file was distressingly brief - he had managed to cover his tracks well enough that the prison services could not discover his real name or even his real nationality, although they surmised he was Italian.
Craig glanced at the brief notes again as Goniff's non-stop chatter washed over his head. Benito Machiavelli had been arrested for dealing in stolen clocks - although he had claimed he was 'minding them for a friend'. His attempt at a con would have worked too, if his 'friend' had not been arrested and promptly spilled his guts in an attempt to lessen his own prison sentence.
He shut the file and nodded at Goniff, giving the impression of listening, as he thought about Machiavelli. He'd bet the man was a conman by trade. That smooth con should have come across as a hastily constructed lie to cover himself, but everything about the man, everything about his circumstances had demanded that it be believed.
Craig looked up as the car came to a halt. They'd arrived. He turned to Goniff and was startled as the man, with a huge grin, held out his wrist.
"It's all right, mate. I don't mind waitin' in the car."
"Good." The handcuffs snapped in place and Craig left the car, restraining his own urge to grin. He was positive that Goniff had no idea how cheerily impertinent he was being. He was also fairly positive Goniff wouldn't care even if he did know.
He could only hope Machiavelli would be easier to deal with.
~'~
"Oh, he's quite a model prisoner," Governor Orwell said, almost enthusiastically. "Well educated man too - although we do wish he wouldn't give the other inmates legal advice. Fifteen of them are out on parole now. Ah, here they are."
The door opened and two men came in. The scowling prison guard was dwarfed by the much taller man who, in spite of his prison uniform, had a cosmopolitan air. "Thank you, Mr. Collins."
Craig restrained a grin as the prison warder fumed at being thanked by a convict. Machiavelli's voice matched his appearance. The accent was definitely European and, as his records suggested, probably Italian.
"Ah, there you are...uh...Machiavelli. That will do for now, Collins."
The door was shut firmly as Collins left and the prisoner smiled, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "You wished to see me, Mr. Orwell?"
"On the contrary...Machiavelli, it's Lieutenant Garrison who wishes to see you." He handed the prison's official file on the prisoner to Craig and added, "I'll leave it in your hands, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, sir."
Craig waited until the Head Warden had left, then opened the file. The only real information of any value was the man's nickname in prison - Actor; a conman's name if ever there was one.
"Mr...Machiavelli." Craig kept his tone even. "Take a seat."
The prisoner sat down and leaned back, totally at his ease, as Craig took his favourite seat on the edge of the desk. "Thank you, Lieutenant Garrison."
Offering cigarettes to a prisoner was normally a way to bribe them enough to get them to listen to you, but Craig did not have that feeling at all as Machiavelli accepted a single cigarette. If anything, if felt more like the simple courtesy exchanged between two men of the same rank or class. If Craig was right, this man could be his second in command on the team - if he could be trusted. He made his opening gambit. "Have you ever considered working for the Government?"
Machiavelli paused for a second before leaning forward to light his cigarette with Craig's match. "I can't say that I have," he replied, a thoughtful tone in his voice.
"There would, naturally, be advantages."
He blew the smoke away from his face. "Naturally," he agreed in a calm voice.
"One of them being a parole."
For a second, the figure stiffened and the mask fell, and Craig knew he had him.
Machiavelli knocked the ash from the end of his cigarette into the ashtray on the head warden's desk and smiled. "I'm listening."
"Naturally, I can't give you many details until we're in England."
The man's cool, assessing gaze met his. "That makes sense."
"You'd be working for the army as a member of a small team. You'll be expected to follow my orders but, in between missions, you'd have a great deal more freedom than you have at the moment."
A half-rueful smile settled on Machiavelli's face. "That would not be difficult."
~'~'~
The safecracker, and the one Craig was most unsure of, was next. 'Casino' as he seemed to be called by everyone, including the prison wardens, had been in and out of prison for most of his adult life.
The door opened and Craig looked up to see a well-muscled, dark-haired, dark-eyed man - a genuine tough guy. Although how much of it was an act was anyone's guess.
The head warden, who had made his dislike of this idea and of Casino obvious, spoke up. "Well, er, er, Lieutenant Garrison, I'll leave you alone with him."
"Thank you." Craig noticed the hard stares being exchanged by the prison wardens and the prisoner. He suspected that Casino, while not being an actual trouble maker, was someone the prison wardens disliked dealing with. "Why don't you take a seat, Mr. -"
"Casino," the prisoner snapped, obviously ready to argue his point.
Craig refused to react, keeping his tone calm, "All right...Casino."
The prisoner sat down, and leaned back, gazing at Craig with a ready contempt. He was unimpressed and showing it.
"Cigarette?"
Naturally, Casino took a couple, sliding the second one into his pocket for later. "Thanks."
"Looks like you're facing ten years in jail." Craig watched as Casino's jaw clenched. The ten years was going to be the bargaining tool he'd hoped for, he was sure of it. "Three escape attempts too." Craig smiled and shook his head. "A file in a chocolate cake - very original."
"It was my birthday."
"Nice present." Craig put the file to one side. "Do you really want to spend the next ten years hoping your birthday presents will be files in cakes?"
Too much, too soon. A look of marked disinterest appeared on Casino's face and his only other reaction was a shrug. Retreating a little, Craig picked up the file and opened it again.
"Says here that you're a safecracker and a lock pick."
"That's right. Now you know my credentials."
Craig ignored the hint and replied, "That's right, I do. And your credentials could get you out of here...if you're interested."
He got a reaction for that. The dark brows frowned and the stare became sharper as if trying to see all the angles. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. You work for the army, do what they tell you, when they tell you, and you can earn yourself a parole." He waited a few seconds then added, "You say yes and you'll be in England tomorrow."
"In an English jail?"
Craig smiled at the tempting thought - it would certainly keep them under control in between missions. "No. No jail. I can't guarantee that you'll have as much freedom as you'd like - you will have to follow regulations - but it'll be a lot better than jail."
The tone was hard and suspicious. "What'll I have to do to earn this parole?"
Craig shook his head. "No details until you're in."
Surprisingly, Casino grinned. "All right, I'm in." There was even an amused tone in his voice.
"Good. There'll be a car here to collect you in the morning." Craig collected his stuff, tucking Casino's file back under his arm. "Oh, and Casino...."
"Yeah?"
"No chocolate cakes with files in them, okay?"
There was another grin then Casino answered, in a dry tone, "I'll keep that in mind."
"Good."
Craig left the office, a satisfied smile on his face. He had them, he had them all. His team. Now he'd see what he could make of them.
The End (or rather, the beginning!)
12th January 2005
