“Major, this is Carter. Request permission to move Savel, Ruden, and Miro to Segregation 11. I have intelligence.” A pause.
“What kind of intelligence?” “Overheard conversation.” “Threats against junior staff.
They’re planning an attack tonight.” Another pause. “You sure about this?”
“Yes, sir. Request authorization.” Collins let out a heavy breath. “All right. Move them.
Do it quietly. I want the paperwork on my desk in the morning.” “Yes, sir.”
She hung up. Took out a form and filled it in quickly. “Transfer of inmates Gregory I. Savel, Victor P. Ruden, and Owen W. Miro to Segregation Cell 11 due to threat to staff safety.
Basis—intelligence information. Signature. Stamp.” At 12:15 she stepped into the hall.
Luke and Dan were sitting at the post, half asleep. “Luke, Dan,” she said quietly, “help me move three inmates from Nine to Eleven.” Luke rubbed his eyes.
“Who?” “Greek and his friends.” Dan frowned.
“At night? Why?” “Major’s orders.
Possible riot threat.” They looked at each other. Luke just shrugged.
“All right. Let’s go.” They opened Cell Nine. Greek was already sitting on the bunk like he had been expecting them.
“What is it now, Officer?” Olivia did not answer. She nodded to Luke.
“Hands behind your back.” Tank stood up heavily. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
“Transfer to segregation,” she said shortly. “Threat assessment.” Scalpel gave a crooked smile.
“Threat to who? You?” She looked him straight in the eye.
“Threat to staff. Hands back.” They stepped into the corridor.
Luke and Dan walked them down the dark passage. Olivia came last. Greek turned unexpectedly.
“You think this is the end?” he asked quietly. She answered just as quietly.
“This is the beginning.” They put them in Segregation 11.
An empty, cold cell with one weak bulb. The door slammed shut. The key turned twice. Luke wiped his forehead.
“That it?” “That’s it,” Olivia said. “Go get some sleep.”
They left without another word. She stayed by the door. Olivia listened.
Inside, there was complete silence. Then Greek’s mocking voice came through. “You still out there, sweetheart?”
She said nothing. Just went back to the duty office. She locked the door.
Sat at her desk. Took out her father’s knife. Checked the edge carefully.
It was razor sharp. She laid the knife beside the pistol. Removed the magazine.
Counted the rounds again. Eight exactly. She slid the magazine back in.
Racked the slide hard. Then she stood from the desk. Went to the old locker.
Took out an old uniform. No insignia. No nameplate. She had worn it on the training range ten years earlier.
She changed quickly. Checked herself in the mirror. The face looked unfamiliar. The eyes were still hers.
The clock read 3:40. She put on the holster, slid the knife into her waistband, and took the pistol in hand. Then she went to the electrical panel in the hallway.
Opened the metal door. Found the right breaker. It controlled Cell 11 and that stretch of corridor.
The switch was in the up position. She pulled it down. A loud click.
The lights at the end of the hall went out at once. The cells dropped into darkness. Olivia switched off her radio and left it on the desk.
Then she stepped into the dark corridor. The silence was complete. Her footsteps echoed, but they were steady.
She reached the heavy door of Segregation 11. Slid the key into the lock. Turned it…
