Free To The Lions - 02 by Chuck Driskell Page A

another cigarette.   As the
waiter cleared away the dishes, Navarro ordered two café cortados, then seemed
content to smoke in silence.   After a few
more minutes, Gage learned that café cortados were espressos with a splash of
milk.
    Happy
to have more caffeine, Gage drank his in a few gulps and pushed his chair back while
he waited on Navarro.   The older man
sipped his drink before taking a long drag on his dwindling cigarette, staring
over Gage’s shoulder with the placid expression of a man listening to a
beautiful composition of classical music.   After several minutes, he crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, clearing
away the smoke of the still air with his hand.  
    Finally,
seemingly sated, he leaned backward and said, “My son, Mister Harris, is in
prison.   He has been there for about a
year and it has been all I’ve been able to do to keep him alive.”
    Gage
blinked.   He fought against repositioning
himself in his chair, managing to remain still.   Is he thinking of proposing a
prison break? Gage thought.   Even if it were successful, which is highly
unlikely, I’d make mortal enemies of the Spanish government .   Realizing he needed to hear the man out, Gage
cleared his throat and said, “Please go on,” even though he wanted to
immediately object.
    “The
prison, Mister Harris, is probably not the type of reformatory you’re thinking
of.   In the United States, at least from
what I know, prisons are dangerous places, yet, at the same time, orderly and
predictable.”
    Though
he didn’t necessarily agree with Navarro, Gage nodded for him to proceed.
    “Here,
however, the prisons are small and regionalized.   And, upon sentencing, prisoners are supposed
to be routed to the penal facility that is commensurate with their crime.”
    “And
your son was convicted of what?”
    “Narcotics
trafficking.   It was an utter sham-job,
orchestrated by my political, and economic, enemies.”   Before Gage could respond Navarro said, “To
be fair, and despite my many objections over his choice of vocation, he was guilty of narcotics trafficking,
Mister Harris, only not in this instance.   They framed him by breaking many laws.”
    “I
see.”
    “Had
he been sent to the correct facility, he would be serving his time proudly, and
I would be able to protect him in the event of attack.”
    “I’m
guessing he was sent somewhere fierce?”
    Navarro
leaned forward and clasped his thick hands on the table.   “Fierce doesn’t begin to describe Berga
Prison.   Every Catalonian gangster and
murderer is there, trying to survive and make a name at the same time.   An entirely different order has grown in
those walls, one that has no respect for the power that exists outside the
prison.”   A tremor passed through Navarro’s
tanned face.   “The last time I spoke with
him, he told me of the violence…and the deviancy.”   He paused.   “I’ve heard all the stories, Mister Harris, and even served a sentence in
my earlier years…but what my son told me I could never imagine, even in the
darkest corner of my mind.”
    This
meeting had been far more protracted than Gage had envisioned, and now it was
getting personal.   Knowing there was zero
chance he would ever entertain the notion of intervening with a federal prisoner
in a developed country, Gage made his tone polite.   “Señor Navarro, I thank you for bringing me
all this way.   I also sympathize with
what you’re going through and, if you’d like, I would be happy to connect you
with someone I know who might be able to help you intervene by infiltrating the leadership of the prison, which is
the route I would recommend.   But I
cannot assist you in helping your son escape, sir.   And by continuing our meeting, I’m doing you
a disservice.”
    Navarro
listened to Gage without expression.   Then, as casually as if he were ordering another café cortado, he said, “I
want you to go into that prison disguised as a prisoner .”