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“They’re downstairs in the basement.”
“With our translator?”
“Security is tight. There are no exits in the center of the building. Anyone who breaks out has to go through quite a few cameras and security personnel to escape. Every room in this place has a button that can sound the alarm for a lockdown. It’s all routed to the monitoring station.”
“Even the cells?”
“Yes. We need to know if there’s an emergency. We do prepare them for the consequences of that decision.”
“Which is?”
“If it’s not a medical emergency, they get a dose of truth serum. If they meant well, all is fine. If they didn’t, they eat a bullet.”
The group reached an empty rotunda in the center of the building, the pattern in the marble floor arranged into the oracle’s coat of arms. Connell marched to one side of the circular wall and slid his key through another reader, punching in a code on a panel. A section of the floor slid open, revealing a staircase that led into shadows.
“How often do you change your code?”
“Every few months.”
“You do realize it would take me less than a minute to hack that security panel? That’s assuming I didn’t steal your key card and type in the code I just memorized.”
“You’d still have to get past my people and the cameras.”
“Cameras are easy, and you can always get past people if you’re patient enough.”
The group’s footsteps echoed against the cement walls as they jogged downstairs. As soon as they reached the last step, Connell slid his card through another reader and punched in his code. Above their heads, the rotunda panel closed.
“There’s a delay of sixty seconds before we can continue,” Connell explained. “A signal has gone off in monitoring, forcing them to confirm our presence visually.”
“So you can trap someone who shouldn’t be here?”
“That’s the idea.” He jutted his chin toward a few vents in the walls. “If it’s a prisoner, we fill the room with lion’s kiss.”
“Lion’s kiss? The sleeping draught? I didn’t know you could buy it in gas form.”
“We do have our own chemists, Lila.”
The door opened with a hollow snick, and the group emerged in
a break room. Four purplecoats sat at a table, playing a card game. Two more read quietly in a corner.
The group hopped to their feet, standing straight as their chief strode past.
“As you were.”
The group relaxed as he punched in a code to the next room.
The door closed behind them, sounding like the snapping of a coffin lid. A long corridor stretched for at least a hundred meters. A dozen purplecoats paced the halls, tranqs in hand.
“You’ll only find tranqs here. We don’t want a prisoner getting hold of live ammo and going on a shooting spree.”
“How many militia are stationed down here?”
“Usually six. I upped the number to eighteen after the mercs joined us. They take thirty-minute breaks after every hour. I don’t want them tired and bored. When they come off break, they count the prisoners before starting their next patrol through the halls.”
“Have you ever had a prisoner escape?”
Connell shook his head. “No. Alarms go off occasionally for no reason, like the one on Thursday, but we haven’t had an escape since we built the place thirty years ago.”
