* * * * *
Major general (Ret.) James J. Bennington had both professional
admiration and personal distaste for the way the politicians
maneuvered him.
The party celebrating his arrival as the new warden of Duncannon
Processing Prison had begun to mellow. As in any group of men with a
common interest, the conversation and jokes centered on that interest. The
representatives and senators of the six states which sent criminals to
Duncannon, holding glasses more suited to Martini-drinking elephants than
human beings, naturally turned their attention to the vagaries in the
business of being and remaining elected.
Senator Giles from Pennsylvania and Representative Culpepper of
Connecticut accomplished the maneuver. Together they smoothly cut the
general out of the group comparing the present tax structure to rape,
past the group lamenting the heavy penalties in the latest
conflict-of-interest law, into a comparatively quiet corner.
"Well general, no need to tell you that we are all as happy to have
you here as Dr. Thornberry seemed to be," Senator Giles said.
Bennington nodded politely, though he had not been much impressed by
the lean, high-voiced man who had greeted him with such open delight.
Dr. Thornberry had expressed too much burbling joy when he had been
relieved of his administrative job as Acting Warden, had been
overly-happy about resuming his normal duties as Assistant Warden and
Chief Psychologist.
"I'm very much interested in some of your ideas on reducing the
overhead here, general," Culpepper said, "although I'm also wondering
if they may not cost my good friend, the senator, some votes in his
district."
"That will be no real worry," Giles said thoughtfully, "if I can show
the changes are real economies. Today that's the way to gain votes and
I'd come up with more than I'd lose."
"But your turnover," Culpepper said. "I can see that in a regular
prison, where they have the men a long time, it's easy to train them
in kitchen work and supply. But here.... How long do you plan to keep
them, general?"
"I'll try to get back to the original purpose in setting up Duncannon
as quickly as possible," Bennington said. "Dr. Thornberry agreed that
five days is the maximum time his sections need to complete the
analysis of a prisoner and decide what prison he should go to. After
that, we will have sound reason to start charging the individual
states for each day we have to keep their consignment."
"Complicated," Giles said. "I mean, the bookkeeping."
"Not at all. I'll either hold the next top-sergeant that comes through
here or borrow one from Carlisle or Indiantown Gap. He can set up a
sort of morning-report system, and when the states learn they will
have to pay us to handle the men _they_ should be feeding, we will
soon see ... well, there won't be six hundred and fifty men, women and
children stuffed into barracks designed to hold three hundred and
fifty."
Bennington had spoken calmly and he lifted his glass casually. But
over the rim of his drink he caught the eye of another old soldier.
Ferguson, who had been a private when Bennington had been only a
captain in Korea, eased himself to within earshot.
The two had risen in rank and grade together. Thirty-three years had
taught them the value of an unobtrusive witness to the general's
conversations.
* * * * *
"But with personnel changing so rapidly--frankly, I didn't understand
your reference to a replo-depot," Culpepper confessed.
"A replo-depot," Bennington said, calling deep on his reserve of
patience, "is the place to which all persons called up for military
service must go first. There, they go through a process similar to the
one we use here: a complete physical, a complete mental, a complete
skill-testing, all used to decide where the man himself can best be
used--or imprisoned. Then they are forwarded to that assignment."
Culpepper nodded, but he still seemed puzzled.
"You could waste an awful lot of men on just handling the food and
equipment that such a command needs, unless you used the men passing
through," Bennington went on. "But, if you have a small permanent
cadre who know what to do and how to do it, they can handle large
groups of untrained men.
"And you'll not only save money, you'll give these men something to do
while they are here," he added.
When Giles and Culpepper exchanged glances, Bennington was
immediately and almost totally certain that his explanation had not
been needed.
"Seems to me you could economize even more if a part of that permanent
cadre were trusties," Giles said.
"I would think so," Culpepper said, "but of course you would have to
pick the men very carefully."
Giles approved of that idea. "Responsible men, not hardened criminals.
Men who once held a prominent position in their communities, but made
a mistake and now would sincerely like a chance to redeem themselves."
"Take the example of Mike Rooney," Culpepper said. "A tragic case,
that. He's lost a good government job and with it all his pension and
retirement rights. And how? By simply having an accident with a
government helicopter when he was using it on a combination of
government and personal business.
"Rooney--" Giles said thoughtfully. "Yes, I know him very well.
Wonderful chap, nice family of growing boys. Now there is the sort of
man who would make you a good trusty, general. I would recommend him
very highly."
"I feel the same way," Culpepper said.
Bennington signaled to Ferguson, used the excuse of freshening his
drink to cover his thoughts. Rooney ... Rooney ... oh, yes, the
Internal Revenue official with the odd ideas about whose tax should be
collected and whose should be neglected ... and coming here for
processing on a minor charge.
The old run-around, Bennington decided: Put the man in jail on a minor
charge until the hullabaloo over his major crime no longer made big
headlines.
If word had gotten down to the State level that Rooney was to be taken
care of, the former tax collector must be sitting on a lot of hot
stuff.
The right phrase here will buy a lot of co-operation, Bennington told
himself, remembering the overcrowded barracks, among the long list of
things needing a change before this place operated properly.
On a short-term basis, the answer was clear....
"Gentlemen, I have no doubt that anyone you recommend for special
consideration would, in some way, deserve that consideration," he
said. "I am further aware that one hand washes another and that if I
expect some favors from you, I should expect to do some for you."
He held down his temper while the politicians exchanged glances of
mutual congratulation.
"But," he said, "if I establish a trusty system, it will be an
honorable one. I would be seen in hell first before I would allow any
man to use the setup as a place to hide in comfort during a short rap
when he should be sweating out a long one.
"Your friend Rooney will get exactly what he deserves. And not a thing
more."
Giles had slowly turned a turkey purple, but his voice remained calm
and even. "I think you stated the proposition fairly, general. You
will get from us the same amount of consideration that you give us."
The party had been over for an hour, but Ferguson was still at work on
the debris. And his old sergeant had, Bennington estimated out of long
experience with cleaning up after stag parties, at least another
hour's work ahead of him.
The general returned to staring out the big picture window overlooking
the prison compound.
_Something was wrong...._
It wasn't Giles and Culpepper. A call to a friend in the Bureau of
Internal Revenue, a few words to each of the six governors who had
concurred in his appointment, either or both of these would take care
of those gentlemen, very thoroughly.
_Something else was wrong...._
He knew the basis of his feeling. He had led troops too many years not
to have learned how rapidly a commander can establish a feeling of
empathy, even on the first day of a new command.
He knew the basis for the feeling, but he couldn't pinpoint an exact
reason.
Or could he?
_Why were there absolutely no lights at all in the prison compound?_