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After all, this was not prison but temporary detention, where individuals stayed until bail or transfer to Rikers or, in more than a few cases, freedom forever. Everybody here was presumably innocent. That was how the country worked.
But the man whose cell he was now walking toward was different and the guard did have an opinion about him. It was an absolute tragedy that he'd been incarcerated here.
The guard didn't know a lot about Barry Shales's background. But he did know that he was a former air force flier who'd fought in the war in Iraq. And that he worked for the government now, the federal government.
And yet he'd been arrested for murder. But not for killing his wife or his wife's lover or anything like that. For killing some asshole terrorist.
Arrested, even though he was a soldier, even though he was a hero.
And the guard knew why he was here: because of politics. He'd been arrested because the party that wasn't in power had to fuck over the one that was, by making an example of this poor guy.
The guard came to the cell and looked through the window.
Funny.
There was another prisoner in the cell, which the guard hadn't known about. It didn't make sense for him to be here. There was a second empty cell that the man should have been put into. The new prisoner was sitting off to the side, staring ahead blankly. The gaze made the guard feel uneasy. The eyes told you everything about the people here, much more than the crap they said.
And what was with Shales? He was lying on his side on the bench, back to the door. He wasn't moving.
The guard punched in the code and with a buzz the door opened.
"Hey, Shales?"
No movement.
The second prisoner continued to stare at the wall. Scary fucker, the guard thought, and he was a man who didn't use that phrase lightly.
"Shales?" The guard stepped closer.
Suddenly the flier stirred and sat up. He turned slowly. The guard saw that Shales was holding his hands to his eyes. He'd been crying.
No shame in that. Happened here all the time.
Shales wiped his face.
"On your feet, Shales. Got some news I think you're gonna like."
CHAPTER 83
AT HIS DESK SHREVE METZGER HEARD the siren but thought nothing of it.
This was, after all, Manhattan. You always heard sirens. The same way you heard shouts, horns, the occasional scream, the caw of seagulls. Backfires...Well, staccato reports that were probably backfires.
Just the background tapestry of the city.
He hardly paid any mind, especially now, when he was trying to put out the raging forest fire that the Robert Moreno task order had become.
The chaos swirled around him, the tornado of flame: Barry Shales and the goddamn whistleblower and that bitch of a prosecutor and the people inside and outside the government who had put together the Special Task Order program.
Soon there'd be more tinder adding to the smolder: the press.
Then of course, hovering over it all, was the Wizard.
He wondered what the "budget conference" was deciding right at the moment.
Metzger realized the sirens had stopped.
And they'd stopped right outside his office.
