Free Sanctuary by Ted Dekker Page A

phone call from a stranger this morning threatening to kill him.”
    “Kill who, did you say?”
    “I didn’t.”
    The corners of the man’s mouth pulled up into a cockeyed smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
    “I got a shoe box.”
    “A what?”
    No, I couldn’t go there.
    “Someone’s threatening to kill him, so like it or not, I am worried.”
    “Look, Basal has a zero-tolerance policy regarding violence. Without weapons at their disposal, inmates use words. All the time. That’s assuming the threat came from Basal, which is highly unlikely.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “He just got here this morning?”
    “Yes.”
    The guard shook his head. “I doubt he’s met any of the prisoners yet, much less had time to make enemies. Besides, all phone calls are monitored. Is your friend a violent man?”
    “No.” Not anymore, anyway. Although I had no doubt Danny could put both of these guards on their backs without breaking a sweat.
    “He make a habit of screaming obscenities at people who walk by?”
    “Of course not.”
    The guard shrugged. “He’s perfectly safe here. Wherever that call came from, it wasn’t Basal. And whoever made it will have an even harder time getting in here than you. Follow? What prison did you say he was transferred from?”
    “Ironwood.”
    “There you go. Impossible to spend time at Ironwood without making enemies. Now, if you don’t mind, you really need to turn your car around and leave. And just so you know, the minute any car hits our blacktop, we know. Go home and take a deep breath. If you still think you need to get a message inside, you best work with an attorney.”
    “Do you know an inmate named Bruce Randell?”
    The guard’s eyes flickered and I knew I’d hit a chord.
    “Not directly, no. I’m not at liberty to speak about any members. I think it’s best for you to leave.”
    I knew then that I had no hope of getting in to see Danny without someone’s help. That’s when I decided to start with whoever had first put Bruce Randell behind bars. Know your enemy’s enemy, Danny had once taught me. They will likely be your ally.
    “Thank you,” I said, eager to leave. “What did you say your name was?”
    “I didn’t.” He grinned. “Martin. Please don’t return until you have the right paperwork. There’s an armed gate around the corner a hundred yards up. No one gets past it unless we want them to. Follow?”
    “Follow,” I said.
    But the only path I was following was the one that led me to Danny, and that path now led me to Bruce Randell, Danny’s newest enemy.

6
    THE DINING HALL was located in the south wing, just off the hub, a self-serve affair that rewarded those who lined up for chow with a compartmentalized plate not unlike those sold as TV dinners. Today’s lunch consisted of one spoonful of fake whipped spuds, three or four small chunks of corned beef, a dozen green beans, an apple, a thick slice cut from a French roll, and something like margarine spread thinner than a snitch’s word across the surface. Choice of drink: water, apple juice, lime soda, or lemonade.
    The hall contained thirty long tables, three rows of ten. According to Godfrey, the prison had a maximum capacity of 300 but was considered full at 250, allowing the warden the spare cells needed to shuffle members between wings as required. Lunch was served to the commoners in two shifts, although privileged members, currently numbering forty-seven, could eat in the hall if they so desired. At least half took advantage of the better meals delivered to the guest rooms, as the privileged cells were called. Members in the basement meditation wing were fed rolls of highly enriched bread in their cells.
    On Danny’s first day there were roughly a hundred members in the room, seated at the tables or in line, talking quietly, casting glances only occasionally at the table where Danny sat alone with Godfrey and a very shy Pete Manning.
    The boy looked young for his twenty