Take The Reason Prisoner Part 4

"That's not in the least what I told him he could do," the psychologist said.

"_What! This is your idea?_"

Thornberry was equally astounded at Bennington's reaction. "Yes, of course. As soon as I took over as Acting Warden, I told Slater that social visits between the prisoners were entirely permissible until Lights Out. But this--"

The psychologist shook his head, then appeared to reconsider and his face brightened. "But it's a step in the right direction. Naturally, I prefer the Mexican system where the wife is permitted regular, very private, visits to her husband--"

"Let me get this straight," Bennington felt like a man lost in a maze.

"You told the Chief Guard that the prisoners could visit each other--"

"No, not all of them," Thornberry interrupted. "I never meant that some of the problem cases, like a few of those in Number Three, should have complete social relations.h.i.+ps."

"Just exactly what were you thinking of when you gave that order?"

"Thinking of? Why, sir, I was thinking of our poor patients here.

Society has ordered them confined, yes, but need we necessarily deprive them of _all_ human rights?"

Thornberry seemed ready to orate for an hour, but Bennington stopped him with a gesture. "All right, I've handled POW camps, maybe in one way I can see your point. But we can take up the philosophy of this later.

"Right now, this is the essential fact, that Slater has taken your order and twisted it into a racket.

"So let's talk to Slater."

But the intercom said, "He hasn't come on duty yet."

"He has the room at the head of the stairs," Thornberry said.

The door was locked, but the psychologist produced a set of master keys.

"I want a set of those, too," Bennington said.

The room was heavy with the smells of cheap whiskey, stale cigarette smoke and human sweat. Two figures were sprawled on the bed. A hairy, bearlike man, Slater; a big well-built brunette.

Thornberry squinted through the gloom, then turned on the lights.

"That's Mona Sitwell," he said, "and I'm sure she was supposed to be on orders to leave here two weeks ago."

Bennington remembered the case, the spinster who had found her parents a hindrance to her extensive enjoyment of male companions.h.i.+p. She had literally chopped up their objections.

"Follow through on the orders you give sometime," Bennington said dryly. "You may meet a few more surprises."

The man on the bed stirred, threw his arm up over his eyes. "What do you want?" he mumbled sleepily.

Bennington mentally cursed the Civil Service regulations which tied his hands, and left him only one thing to say: "Your immediate resignation."

"Message Center, sir."

"Go ahead." The general looked at the desk clock. 1515. He could guess what they wanted to tell him.

"Sir, the new consignment will be here in about ten minutes."

"Thanks. Pa.s.s the word along to Dr. Thornberry and add, I'll meet him at the flagpole in five minutes."

Bennington pushed back his chair, slowly stood up. This had already been a full day's work.

Slater had been worse sober than he had been sleepy and half-drunk.

His covering barrage of threats on leaving the prison had been equally divided between the general's personal health and the entire prison setup.

Thornberry had screened the other guards. And, after sitting in on only two sessions, Bennington had at last found one small reason to like his chief a.s.sistant. The psych-expert could spot a liar almost before the man opened his mouth.

But right now, and, at the wages offered, probably for a long time, Duncannon was very short of guards.

Judkins was ready in The Cage. An efficient man, but he had been a little resentful at the extra work involved in moving his equipment.

The prisoners would remain in The Cage overnight, except for their trips to the Mess Hall. A reorganized supply room had disgorged more than enough cots and blankets to convert The Cage into a temporary dormitory.

Bennington riffled the papers on his desk showing when the prisoners on hand had been received and how long they had been ready to go to their a.s.signed prison. This matter took top priority. Some of the people had been here over a month. If he could push through the plan to charge the states for every day Duncannon kept a prisoner after the criminal was ready for s.h.i.+pment, then the various states should each pay, as a rough estimate showed....

But the clock on the desk showed 1520, time to meet Thornberry. With longer than usual steps, Bennington strode out of his office and out the main door of the Administration Building.

Thornberry was pacing around the flagpole directly opposite the main entrance.

"This man, Dalton," the psychologist said, falling in step with the general, "you know he escaped from us twice."

"Make him the first through," and Bennington dismissed the subject.

"I'm more interested in this. Are there any ex-service men among the group?"

Thornberry sniffed, "Still worried about our conditioning and our security, general? I repeat, even though we do not use the lobotomies and other techniques of our cold-war compet.i.tors, we can nevertheless condition anyone sent to us so that he will not make any trouble."

Bennington shrugged, "I'd like to see you work on a para-commando. Or one of the General Staff."

Thornberry, now leading the way through the Processing Building, called back over his shoulder. "How many of them end up in prison? I mean, from the General Staff? The para-coms do, of course, they just can't adjust to civilian life and I think the Army should do something about that before they discharge them. But they never come here without an accompanying court order allowing us to use the eyeball technique."

Along the short path, enclosed by barbed wire, from Processing into The Cage. Swiftly along the corridor behind the one-way vision mirrors, down the walk to the gate in the barbed wire.

Bennington looked around and nodded approval: his reception committee for the new arrivals was waiting.

He looked across the river toward Harrisburg. Yes, just turning into the bridge approach, two tractor-trailer combos, preceded and followed by white cars.

Bennington glanced around again. From the roof of The Cage, Ferguson, drafted as a guard for this emergency, waved and lovingly patted the b.u.t.t of his submachine gun.

One of the regular guards gave the general a sound-powered megaphone.

He nodded thanks, lifted it.

"Give me your attention!"