Stone glanced at Knox and then back at Tyree, his anger at what was being done to them building beyond all hope of containment. Stone knew he shouldn’t but he also couldn’t stop himself. “How much does one of those scripts cost, Howie? They must come in real handy in your line of work.”

The warden tapped his thumb on the table and one of the guards handed him his billy club and a towel along with a bungee cord. Tyree stood, took his time wrapping the towel around the head of the club and secured it there with the cord.

The next instant Stone was slumped sideways in his chair, blood running down his battered face.

Tyree sat back down after dropping the bloody club on the table. He resumed looking at the file after methodically wiping a speck of Stone’s blood off his glasses with a handkerchief he pulled from his pants pocket.

“With the towel it doesn’t really leave much of a mark,” he murmured in a casual tone. “We find that helpful in keeping order here. Prisoners have far too much time to complain about trivial things.”

He thumbed through more pages of the file and then pointed at Knox. “You’re Richard Prescott, a.k.a. Richie Patterson from the great state of Mississippi. Killed two people in an armed robbery in Newark twenty-one years ago and one more since you came into the correctional system. The Garden State didn’t want you anymore so you’re now our guest for the rest of your natural life.” He said all this as though he were reciting tedious lecture notes to an auditorium full of bored college freshman.

“My name is Joseph P. Knox of the Central Intelligence Agency. And in about twenty-four hours there’ll be an army of feds at this place, and the next thing you know, you assholes are the ones who’ll be rotting in a supermax.”

Tyree hit Knox so hard with the billy club that the chair tore loose from its underpinning and he fell over unconscious onto the slab floor.

Tyree closed the file. “Get ’em up.”

The guards unhooked them from the chair shackles and pulled the men to their feet.

Tyree looked at the unconscious Knox. He said in a weary tone, “Wake him up, George. He has to hear this.”

A bucket of water was thrown in Knox’s face. Gagging, he came to, spitting up water and his own blood.

Tyree waited for Knox to catch his breath and then paced in front of the two with his hands clasped behind him.